


Pacific

by jewelianna88



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:38:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewelianna88/pseuds/jewelianna88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Massively huge AU, Lewis and Clark style</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pacific

Part One: St. Louis  
Music: Teleman, Don Quixote Suite, Overture

Lance stepped from his coach into the chilly March sunlight onto an unpaved street. His shoes were immediately coated with mud, right up through his fine woolen stockings. He grimaced. So this was the wild frontier.

“Excuse me,” he said to a passerby. The man, dressed in a deerskin jacket and chaps, turned to Lance and gave him the once over critically.

“Yeah? You’re a little far from home.” He laughed at his own humor. Lance rolled his eyes.

“I’m looking for El Duque Public House.” He’d memorized the name of the meeting spot on the long ride from Charlestown.

The man before him-- Lance couldn’t bring himself to call this half-breed a gentleman-- snorted. “Now, I don’t think your kind has any business down at El Duque’s. Maybe you should try that fancy port and wine place up on Constitution Street.”

“Could you please just point me in the correct direction?” Lance asked. He was rumpled and dirty from over a week of travel, and wanted to get going with his meeting as soon as possible. “I’m looking for a Christopher Kirk.”

“Kirk?” The name brought the man’s attention up. A scar slashed across his face, making his smile positively gruesome. Lance bit back a shudder. “Yeah, I know Kirk. Listen, you follow Independence Avenue down here, to the water. It’s the one without the door.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Oh?

“Makes things easier when El Duque needs to dump the drunks out into the street.” The man threw back his head and cackled wildly. Lance recoiled, stepping around the man, and down the muddy path.

Welcome to St. Louis, he thought grimly. This was going to be some adventure.

The tiny shack smelled of urine and beer, and Lance coughed at the odor wafting from the door before even crossing the threshold. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his nose before entering.

This was not a public house like in the civilized towns on the east. It was a dark, dank hole on the river, and the only people inside were a sinister character behind the bar, two women wearing nothing but corsets and petticoats, and a man drenched in shadow. Lance averted his eyes from the ladies and the bartender, focusing on the man.

Surely this was not the best wilderness guide in the nation. This man, who was currently slumped over a pint of ale, wasn’t the guide who would lead them to the Pacific.

“Mr. Kirk,” Lance said tentatively. When the man raised his head, eyes bloody from liquor, Lance extended a gracious hand. “James Lance Bass. Your surveyor.”

A crooked smile crept up the man’s lips. “All the way from the great state of Georgia.” There was mocking in his voice. “Pull up a chair, James Lance Bass. Have a drink, have a woman.”

Lance slid up a chair, but waved away the other offers. “I go by Lance,” he said, trying to keep his eyes from the lewd display of flesh on the woman who perched herself in Christopher’s lap.

“And I, by Chris. Ladies,” he said, clucking one under her chin until she giggled shrilly, “I’m afraid this is business.” They left them alone.

“I’m afraid there’s been some mistake,” Lance said, trying to decide if the man was sober enough to be trusted. “I was under the impression that this was a national expedition.” The letter he’d received three months ago was signed by President Madison himself, requesting his service in surveying the southern portion of Louisiana territory, and west to the ocean, completing what Zebulon Pike hadn’t been able to do: find a southern route to the Pacific coast.

“Oh, it’s federally funded. Officially endorsed, approved by the great and mighty President himself. We’re leaving in three days time.”

“But…” Lance looked around, “where is the rest of the team?”

Chris looked around. “They’re not here? Damn. Lost already.”

Lance didn’t laugh, even when Chris began to chuckle heartily, rolling around on the crude wooden seat. “Please be serious.”

With a false sobriety, Chris sat upward. “Oh, this is going to be a rough couple of years,” he muttered, staring at Lance out of the corner of his eye. “They’re at the hotel. Well, the biologist, and the army guy. The translator hasn’t shown up yet.”

Five men, then. “What about the rest of the team?”

“What rest? Haven’t you heard there’s a war going on? We’re lucky Madison’s sending us at all.”

Lance balked. Lewis and Clark had over 30 men. Pike had at least 25. They were going with only five? It was an expedition doomed for failure.

“Go on,” Chris said, waving him away. “Go, run up to the hotel. If you’re not going to drink, you’re wasting your seat. I’ll see you eventually.”

Lance swallowed. “I need to purchase supplies, provisions.” He’d picked up a few things at Versailles in Kentucky Territory, but needed more. A lot more.

“Bronson’s place’ll have everything you need. Just tell’em you’re with me.”

Lance pushed the chair back under the table as he stood, manners always perfect. “So. I will see you later then.” Chris nodded, already distracted calling back the women. Lance hurried away.

What had he gotten himself into?

Justin Timberlake sat on the porch of the Millar’s Inn, writing a letter home to his mother. She’d cried when he’d left, but this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Justin had been recommended by President Jefferson himself, who remembered Justin as the eager naturalist from his recent symposium at William and Mary, where Justin studied. He smiled just to remember the wording that came in the official letter. “At the recommendation of my esteemed colleague, the former President Thomas Jefferson, I invite you to join in what will surely be one of the great adventures in our country’s history. There is no man I would rather send.” The seal of President Madison had closed the envelope and been embossed at the top of the creamy stationary. His mother had insisted on framing the letter, so proud of her son.

“I miss you dearly,” Justin wrote, looking around at the scenery. His mother had never traveled further west than Monticello, and he wanted to tell her everything. He had two new journals for the trip, their blank pages eager to be filled with words. “But I feel filled with a grand sense of purpose, here, like God has sent me to explore this great magnificent land. Everything is bigger here, from the rivers to the blades of grass. I can only imagine what will lie ahead of us.”

Justin folded the letter into its envelope and scrawled the address of his mother’s plantation onto the front. Her new husband had some wealth, the only way that Justin had been able to afford some education, or felt comfortable leaving her to participate in this expedition. She was in good hands, now.

The sun baked down overhead, melting the few remaining piles of mid-spring snow at the sides of the road. On the other end of the porch sat Joseph, dressed in sharp white pants and a blue jacket bedazzled with buttons of gold. An army man from the shine of his boots to the ramrod straight posture with which he sat. He was to be their escort on the journey, Justin had discovered earlier, and though they had exchanged pleasantries, there had been no further conversation over the course of the afternoon.

On the street, few men wandered. The population of St. Louis was growing, but still small compared to the port cities of the east. Half of the people here spoke a strange Creole of French and Spanish that sounded like music floating through the air. Justin had always had a good ear for pleasing sounds.

Up the steps stormed a gentleman whose fine dress stood out among the leather-clad westerners. Like Justin, he was not from around here.

The man knocked, but the front door to the inn remained locked tightly. Turning to Justin, he asked “Is the keeper about?”

Justin shrugged. “Rumor has it he’ll be back eventually. You’re welcome to wait here, with us.” Justin slid down the bench, leaning into the corner of the rail, drawing up one boot to rest on the planks. The other man smiled graciously and sat.

“I’m Justin.” He offered a hand politely, and the other man shook it. “That’s Joseph down there. We’re leaving on an expedition to the Pacific in a few days.”

“James Lance Bass,” the stranger said. “I believe I’ll be joining you.”

“Are you related to Congressmen Bass?” Justin asked, wracking his brain for any recollection of the Representative from Georgia. He was looking for the Senate seat, if Justin remembered correctly. His time in Washington at his stepfather’s side had been more focused on digging around at the construction of the Capitol Building that socializing with Congressmen.

“My father,” Lance said. Justin waited for more to come, but James Lance offered nothing more. “Are you here to be the interpreter, then?”

“No,” Justin said. “The naturalist. And you?”

“The surveyor.” Lance patted his wooden case, full of equipment. “Have you, um. Met our captain?”

Justin shook his head. “I was just told to meet him here.”

“I wish,” Lance said wistfully. He pulled off his hat, running a hand through sandy brown hair until it stood up with spikes of sweat. “He was rather. Under the weather?”

“He’s sick?” Justin’s heart fell. He’d been so looking forward to getting on the trail soon.

“More likely he means drunk as a skunk,” came a voice from across the porch. “Kirk never could avoid a good spirit when given the opportunity.”

Justin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You’ve worked with him before, then.”

Joseph stood, closing the knife he’d been using to whittle a small figure, and came to sit on the same side of the porch as the other three. “No, but his reputation reaches far. Kirk’s the best that’s left. He was with Lewis and Clark, was with Pike. He’s seen more of this country than any one man has.”

“But he’s a drunk!” Lance proclaimed with distaste, and Justin was inclined to agree. They were moving into uncharted territory. Their leader needed to be level headed and focused.

“He won’t be, in a few days.” Joey said. He took out his knife again, and began to whittle.

Justin looked between them, Lance who looked so unsure, Joey who looked so calm. He himself was bubbling with energy. “So, do you really think we’re gonna make it all the way to the Pacific?”

Joey smiled at him, warmly, and Justin knew he was going to like this soldier. “That’s what we’re here for,” he said, as if it was just that simple.

They waited at the inn for three days, checking and double-checking supplies. Chris made a few appearances, taking stock of the supplies.

“This is it?” he asked, picking through the piles of sacks and saddlebags. They would be moving on horseback for the beginning of the journey.

“Is it too meager?” Lance asked, studying the assortment of provisions. Mostly food, some medical supplies, powder and five cases of 100 balls, tents, blankets, a couple of spyglasses.

Chris didn’t answer, but walked around the stacks with a grim set to his lips. Lance supposed that some would call Chris handsome, in a rugged sort of way. His hair was long and fell into his eyes when he looked down. Though short in stature, he had a presence that far out measured his physical size. His eyes were the rich brown of a newly-plowed field, his lips a deep rosy color, bleeding from the corner where he tugged on the peeling skin with his crooked teeth. Despite his rough edges, he carried himself as a proud man would.

“Since we’re going by horse, we’ll have to pack less. And there are only five of us.” Chris stared at the sky while his mouth moved in figures. “I don’t know how much funding we have left.”

Lance shook his head. “Buy what you need,” he said. When Chris stared at him with raised eyebrows, Lance felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck. “I mean, I can pay for extra, should we need it.”

Chris was studying him with painful scrutiny. It made Lance think of his teachers, who had always seemed to be searching out why he wasn’t living up to potential. It wasn’t until Lance began surveying land with his uncle that he’d truly found a calling. The woods were his haven from the prying eyes of the world. If Chris was going to look at him like that for the entire journey, Lance felt he might go mad.

“We’ll get some more flour, and beans,” Chris said. “Those are the most difficult to come by on the trail.”

The dark skies began to rain on them, fat drops that left dark splotches on Lance’s jacket. “We should get these covered,” he said, reaching for the tarp. Chris aided him, securely staking the corners.

“We are leaving in the morning, then?” Lance asked, as Chris pulled on a hat and began walking toward the harbor. To the pub, Lance guessed grimly. Though Chris seemed clear-headed at the moment, he still did not hold faith in their leader.

“If the damned interpreter shows up,” Chris mumbled. Lance watched him retreat to the dank pub, before turning back to the inn. Justin would be there, and Joey. Lance was thankful that there were at least two sensible people in their small party.

Morning dawned dry and cold. And very much without an interpreter.

“What do we do?” Justin asked, already mounted on his horse. From the ground, Lance studied him carefully. Justin looked like a painting, sitting proudly atop his ebony mount, the sun rising at his back. Already facing west he was, with eager eyes.

“We go find someone else.” Chris cursed under his breath, dismounting. He handed the reigns to Joey. “This is going to put us behind schedule and out of budget.”

Lance looked miserably at the riders beside him. So far, nothing was going right. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t come.”

“Who wouldn’t come?” From below, a new voice entered the conversation, graced with a wisp of a French accent. Lance looked down to find a smiling man with curly brown hair and eyes swirled in shades of blue. He had the reins of a pure white horse in one hand, the other resting carefully on the horse’s neck. If Lance had not known better, he would have thought this man to be a dream. He was too beautiful to be real.

“Are you the interpreter, then?” Joey asked, leaping gracefully to the ground. He shook hands with the new arrival, apparently the last member of the party. When Lance took his hand, it was rough and callused, much stronger than it appeared.

“Justin, go find Chris,” Joey ordered, helping JC to secure the remaining saddle bags onto his horse’s rump. Chris was grumpy looking when he returned, but Lance suspected it was just a front for his relief. Introductions were made all around.

“So, can we leave yet?” Chris asked. The owner of the inn came out to the porch to wave them off, as did a few other townspeople. It was not often that such grand expeditions left from their tiny frontier city. With a wave of his hat and a kick to his horse, Chris was off in whirlwind of motion, riding twice around the small group of explorers before setting off on the road out of town.

“Let’s go!” Justin cried, following out at a gallop. Shouts of joy and calls for safe journey rose up behind them as the five men left behind the comforts of the civilized world and plunged head first into the wilderness beyond.

Part Two: The Buffalo  
Music: The Beginning of the Partnership, Music from the Miramax Motion Picture Shakespeare In Love

The grass was tall enough to tickle the top of Justin’s moccasins as he rode, a gentle caress of the earth as he passed. He’d never seen land such as this, so vast and open. There was no end to the gently rolling prairie, reaching out across the territory until it finally touched the sky. To imagine that they were going there was almost too big of a dream.

In one hand, Justin held the reigns loosely. With the other, he scribbled into a notebook perched on the saddle horn. Though this land had been scouted quite extensively, Justin did not want to miss anything. He knew that there was doubt as to whether he could adequately fulfill the role of naturalist on the journey, being of young age and significant inexperience on the frontier. But he came with President Jefferson’s approval, which meant that he needed to do the best job possible, taking careful notes and drawings of everything he did see.

Beside him rode Lance, who took in the scenery with the same wide-eyed appreciation as Justin. Justin had recognized Lance as a kindred soul almost immediately, two gracious Southern gentlemen who stood out so prominently against the brawny St. Louis crowd. Lance caught his eye and smiled, pausing from his own compass notations.

“What are you writing?” he asked.

Justin closed his book, tucking it safely into his saddlebag. “Notes on the vegetation of the region. It’s amazing how large the plants grow here, without any taming influences.”

Lance reached down and brushed a hand through the grasses, spilling green seeds to the earth. “There is little game here, then.” Large herbivores would keep the grasses low from grazing.

Justin nodded. “I cannot wait to see a buffalo.” He had seen drawings and engravings, but never before been in the presence of the great American beast.

Joey turned from his saddle and smiled at them. JC and Chris had ridden far ahead, only specks of silhouette on the horizon. “Me too.”

“Where are you from?” Justin asked curiously. Joey spoke with a clipped accent that was much less British than Justin's own dialect. There were shades of southern Europe there.

“The Northwest Territories, by way of New York City. I’ve been stationed near Prophetstown for the past two years.”

Lance’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a dangerous place.” They all knew of the Indian uprisings and vicious attacks that went on in the region. For soldiers, it was a near death sentence.

“It was. I was mighty glad to be given the opportunity to leave there. Now, I can perish in the great wide west rather than at the hand of a savage.” Joey adjusted his hat, pushing errant strands of hair off of his face.

Justin shared a look with Lance, who seemed to have the same apprehension in his face. If they were to survive this journey, they would have to rely on the help of the natives. Joey’s attitude could be costly.

They rode until the sun cast its last rays of light from the west, and made camp under a grove of trees. Justin has just finished securing his horse to one of the branches when Chris came by and unhooked the ropes.

“What are you doing?” Justin cried angrily. “I just tied those.”

“And committed your horse to death,” Chris declared, giving the now-free horse a pat on the rump. “How’s he going to get away from a coyote if he’s tied to a tree?”

Oh. Justin scratched his head. “But what if he wanders off?” The idea of having to ride double, or God-forbid, walk the rest of the journey was just unbearable.

“He won’t,” Chris assured him. Justin must have looked particularly downtrodden, because Chris wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders, reassuringly. “Come, we’ve biscuits and beef for dinner this evening. We need to enjoy these meals while we can. Soon you’ll have eaten so much beaver you’ll swear your teeth are growing bucked.”

Justin smiled at that, and let Chris lead him away to the fire. On the trail, Chris was sober, as Joey had promised he would be. He inspired a fraternal loyalty in Justin, whose heart leapt as they sat down for dinner, questions bubbling out of his mouth about Chris’s experiences on the trail. Here was someone he could learn from, and Justin was determined to acquire as much knowledge as possible, so he would no longer be the green boy from the East but a useful resource for the team.

They traveled on for days, the time passing quickly in those first few weeks. Their direction was due west, and they spent the days traveling telling life stories, trying to connect their own experiences in the fabric of time and place. They talked about politics and the war, culture and family, everything topic imaginable until the days ended with hoarse voices around the fire, telling fables taller than the highest mountain.

Chris was an adept leader, often clinging closely to JC, the only other one with trail experience. The only one he trusted, Justin thought with frustration. It didn’t seem fair that he was off on this grand adventure with no more of a role than occasional hunter and notekeeper.

When he told Chris this, it earned him a strange look.

“I really want to do more,” he pleaded.

“Why are you here?” Chris asked him. He didn’t answer Justin’s question, but he did pass a long pole to the younger man, and a piece of twine. They were camped by a pond and determined to fish for their dinner. There were geese at the far end of the water, ducking and bobbing, making the surface ripple. The sun crouched on the horizon with a golden glow, and the rushes around the pond swayed in the light evening breeze. The world, Justin thought, was beautiful.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty clear this isn’t what you were raised for,” Chris said. “I’ve lived my entire life on the frontier, but you. You’re a civilized boy, through and through.”

Justin shrugged nonchalantly, struggling to bait his hook. At least fishing was something he could do with some skill. “It’s a chance to serve my country and my Lord,” he said proudly. “I was chosen for this task, and it would be an embarrassment to have turned it down.” His stepfather had been so excited, his mother’s eyes gleaming. Thinking of them made him miss home so badly.

“Would you have come,” Chris asked carefully, “if it was not expected of you?”

Justin knew this was a test, just as he knew that the tug on his line was nothing large enough to feed a man. He released the tiny fish while thinking of the proper answer. “I would have come even if I had to buy my way onto the corps,” he said. “I’ve dreamed of this since I was a boy and heard tales of the great mountains of the west. I want to explore God’s country, and tell others about it."

Chris studied him for a long time before nodding. He hauled up his line without catching a thing, then dropped it back into the dark water. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said finally. Justin felt his mouth stretch in a smile. Having the approval of the captain of this expedition meant the world to him. “Why are you?”

“Excuse me?” Chris turned his head, curious.

“Why are you here?” Justin smiled at him and waved around his fishing pole.

“I am here,” Chris said, pulling in a rather large fish and slowly working the hook free, “to prove that un-great men can accomplish greatness.”

Not expecting such profoundness, Justin didn’t have a response prepared. He smiled at Chris, hoping that would suffice.

It seemed to be enough. Chris dropped the fish into a bowl and baited his line once again. “We should see our buffalo soon.”

It was all Justin could do not to bounce in place. Chris laughed at him, tipped down Justin’s hat to cover his eyes, and cast his line back into the water.

It was easier than Chris had expected to form camaraderie with the two youngest travelers. Joseph, the army scout, was one of the most amicable fellows that Chris had met, despite his ill-will toward all native peoples. Chris suspected there was something more to that than Joseph was willing to tell them, but he did not pry. Chris was a man who deeply respected secrets. He had enough of them to understand the importance of privacy. But Joey had wilderness experience, which was helpful.

The younger two were, on the surface, as alike as grains of sand, but Chris soon realized their personalities were vastly different. Justin was the more eager fellow, though Lance may have been just as enthusiastic and simply hid his emotions better. He had a cool head about him, the surveyor, speaking little but strong enough to stand up for himself or offer suggestions. Chris respected that, and the way he’d unceremoniously shoved Justin into the pond where they’d stopped to water the horses. It was only when the subject of family was broached that Lance stiffened and buttoned his lips. When pressed, he’d admitted leaving home on poor terms but would not elaborate further. He wasn’t quite sure of his place, Chris could tell, but he was searching for it.

Justin was more of a jabber mouth, never ceasing with his endless questions. He was the most singly determined person Chris had ever met, and though it had annoyed him in the first few days, the relentless barrage of questions had become a nice distraction from the monotony of these first few days on the trail. Chris had been here before, seen all of these sights. He felt at home here, more so than in any city, but he still felt the pull of the west, a magnet drawing him further across the continent.

JC rode beside him most days, quiet except for frequent songs. He sang in English, French, and native languages, so many songs that Chris wondered how he kept them all in his head. He’d sing out loudly, entertaining them all, or under his breath. Often, Justin would trot up beside them and hum along. JC made the journey pleasant, and Chris felt safer with him there. Despite his inability to distinguish days on the calendar, JC was a good trail man.

He was secretive, though. He had a way of smiling without answering questions so that people forgot they’d even asked. Chris found it baffling, and yet, it intrigued him to spend more time with JC, hoping to crack the mystery behind this peculiar man.

Chris tugged on his chaps where they rode up on his legs, standing in his stirrups to stretch. They’d be stopping soon for the evening, and there was smoke in the distance from a native village. If they were lucky, the people would be friendly and trade. JC sniffed the air, smelling the meat that roasted on the fire and smiled.

So far, Chris thought, turning his horse in the direction of the village, the journey was running smoothly.

The native people were kind, and lent a guide to the small party to lead them to the buffalo herds the next day. JC talked quietly with a few of the hunters, mysterious words that Chris could never hope to understand. While he’d managed to mutter his way though his grandparents’ native German well enough, the native tongues of this land sounded as strange as bird calls to his ears.

Justin insisted on coming, bouncing in his saddle. Chris remembered his first buffalo hunt a decade earlier and agreed. Back then, he’d thought the mighty buffalo would be as great as the wooly mammoth, massive fearsome creatures that ruled the plains. He thought now that maybe he should have been disappointed that they weren’t.

“They say that the animals are as gentle as cows, and will even let you pet them,” Justin chattered excitedly. He held on his hat with one hand, against the whipping winds of the lower prairies.

“Mmmm.” Chris didn’t want to spoil Justin’s surprise by telling him any more than the books could. There were things that needed to be experienced firsthand.

“And they’re as numerous as the stars,” Justin said, standing in his saddle as they reached the crest of the hill. “Is it true?”

Chris didn’t need to answer. Beyond the hill spread the Great Plains of the United States, stretched until the ends of the earth. Across them traveled the giant herds of buffalo, too numerous to count, a moving mass of brown and black that completely covered the land in places, so that not even the ground was visible.

Chris took a moment to appreciate the views before turning to Justin, to see his stunned reaction. He’d fallen back into his saddle with amazement.

“Look at them,” he said, dismounting and walking forward towards the great wooly beasts. There was a mother with a very young calf running on teetering legs, as skittish as a colt but much more powerful, even so young.

Justin tried to approach, but the nearest cow ran off scared. He looked disappointed, an expression that quickly turned to horror at the pained cry of an animal as one of the hunter’s arrows pierced its skin.

“Don’t worry,” Chris promised. “Buffalo is nearly as delicious as beef.” Justin looked to protest, but wisely stayed quiet. Chris got the impression that Justin had little experience with slaughter in his young life.

They stayed with the animals until Justin could touch one, fingers tangling in its thick mangled fur. He studied the beast with the eye of a scientist and the wistful smile of an artist. He kept looking back as they rode away, as if to assure himself it had not been a dream.

The chatter returned on their short ride back to the village, now filled with excitement and stories to write home about. Chris smiled at the kid, who was slowly growing on him. He’d never had a brother, but felt that by the end of the journey, Justin would fill that niche in his life nicely.

Part Three: Upriver  
Music: John Williams, The Last of the Mohicans

JC would never be able to count the days he'd spent on the trail. Since he'd left home in his sixteenth year, he had lived life in the wild, preferring the crunch of grass and leaves beneath his feet to the unrelenting cobblestones or hard-packed dirt and gravel of cities and towns. He loved the feeling of waking with nothing but the sounds of the animals and the wind, rather than the yelling of neighbors about why there were no eggs for a husband's breakfast. He liked being able to gather in the word, with all of its diverse views and offerings, to later work the words into song that would keep him happy as he traveled the long and winding expanse of America.

This time, things were very different. The small party prompted intimacy unfamiliar to JC, yet he found that it was not all unpleasant. On most of his 'professional' explorations, JC kept to himself, the men he worked for more than happy to leave him alone or talking to the natives. He was more comfortable with the tribes they encountered. After all, he had their blood too. Often, they could recognize him as one of their own.

Now, traveling with only four other men, JC enjoyed the conversations he was drawn into, or the songs that they asked him to share. The young one, Justin, had a most pleasing voice, and could provide a harmony to nearly any tune. In reality, all five of them could sing pleasantly together, though the surveyor often hummed a steady beat, not remembering the words. That alone made the journey enjoyable, JC thought, as he spurned his horse westward.

The only worry he had was Joseph. The army sergeant had a happy smile, but he sat with his back straight as a board in the saddle, buttons shining in the midday sun. His eyes were jovial most of the time. However, JC hated the shadows cast upon Joseph’s complexion at the sight, nay, the mere mention of the native peoples. JC knew, above all else, that life in Louisiana territory and beyond depended on the assistance of the native people, for both protection and basic items such as food and shelter. If Joseph's attitude did not change, he could place them all in serious jeopardy.

JC vowed to talk to Joseph soon. They were expected to make camp at a place called Smokey Hill, if Chris was reading his maps correctly. JC had no doubt that he was. Though he had never blazed trails with Chris before, he had the utmost trust in Chris based on reputation alone. A member of the Corps of Discovery, as well as one of Pike's chosen few, there was no one more experienced at tracking the west that their captain. JC stared at him, riding ahead in his saddle, eyes on the horizon. He was a handsome man, rugged as the Rocky Mountains themselves, yet underneath, with the temperament of a tornado if properly stirred. JC recognized Chris’s smooth clever mind and a wit that could cut as sharply as a knife. He wondered when Chris would drop the gruff facade and open up to the parties.

It surprised JC that he longed to be let into Chris' heart, and gave him something to mull over during the long ride to camp.

Lance propped the looking glass up in the crook of a tree. The angle was bad, but it was the best he could do. Bending down so he could see, he picked up a sliver of soap and his razor.

The scrape of the metal was smooth against his cheek, the slippery soap sliding down his neck into the collar of his shirt. The stubble on his cheeks had been itching all day long, and he was so relieved to finally have a free moment to shave.

“Need some help?”

Lance started at the voice, bumping the tree branch at his elbow. The mirror fell to the ground, breaking over the roots like stars fallen to earth. Lance cursed. It was the only one he had.

JC knelt beside him to gather the pieces, but none were large enough to salvage. Frustrated, Lance began to wipe at his chin to remove the suds.

“Here,” JC said, taking the razor from where it had fallen on the ground. He swiped it against his pants to clean off the dirt, then took Lance’s chin in his hand, tilting it into the light.

Lance gulped as the razor came to his throat. Two weeks into their journey and already his life was in another man’s hands. A stranger’s hands.

“Careful,” JC cautioned as the blade wiped across Lance’s skin. “You have the largest larynx I’ve ever seen.” He wiped the suds from the razor onto Lance’s shirtsleeve and carefully shaved lower onto Lance’s throat.

“Thanks.” He murmured the word through barely parted lips, body focused more on the feel of JC’s hands on his face, the way his leg was barely grazing against Lance’s stirred his stomach in ways that Lance knew it wasn’t supposed to.

“Will you do mine?” JC asked, using his shirttail to wipe Lance’s chin. Lance took the razor with a weak smile.

JC was a beautiful man, and Lance knew that his body was appreciating that on a level his mind wasn’t ready to accept. His guided JC’s face with his hands like he would for a kiss. Somehow, his hands did not shake when he scraped them across JC’s skin.

“There,” he said, wiping the now-smooth skin. JC ran his hands over his chin.

“My thanks. I don’t understand how the others keep their beards.” His smile was so easy that Lance felt at ease again. JC was right- the other three members of their party had let their whiskers grow long. Lance would find that unbearable in the summer heat.

JC slung an arm around Lance’s shoulder and guided him back to the horses. “We will be shaving partners,” he promised. Lance’s heart jumped, but it was not love. He realized that for the first time on the journey, the interpreter viewed him as an equal, a friend.

“So, how much longer do you think it’s gonna take?” Justin asked.

Chris glanced across the campfire, annoyed beyond belief. “Somebody hit him,” he gestured with his knife, and went back to eating his rabbit stew.

Joey put his plate on the ground and gleeful punched Justin’s bicep. Chris nodded his thanks.

“We’ve only been gone three months,” Lance said around a mouthful of stew. He was the official keeper of days, the only one with the patience for a daily journal.

Three months, and they’d made good time across the prairie, but still were far from there destination. Not to mention the return trip. Chris knew these things. He’d made this journey, or at least, part of it, before. He was the only one. Beside him on the log they used as a seat, JC smiled knowingly.

Justin sat rubbing his shoulder pitifully. “I know. But really, how much farther can it be?

“We don’t know,” Chris replied. “That’s what we’re here to figure out.”

When they reached the Arkansas River, they followed the water westward toward the mountains they could not yet see but knew were there. Lance was plagued by the mosquitoes. They all were. Each evening before bed they were forced to slather any exposed skin with grease so they weren’t eaten alive as they slept. Chris was perhaps the most miserable, for he could not help scratching at the itchy bumps until they bled and grew infected.

The river, Lance thought, was wretched. Dutifully, he made his compass notations and took careful records for the map he hoped to produce at the conclusion of the voyage. He did so bitterly, however. This was not a country he would ever wish to return to.

Joey rode by his side singing old war songs, the songs their fathers had sung as they stood up to the overbearing British beast and fought for freedom.

“I wonder how the war progresses,” Lance asked.

Joey stopped singing and thought for a moment. “I guess we’ll find out when we get back.”

“We could be returning to England again.” Lance shifted in his saddle to avoid sores. His horse’s neck hung low in the heat, yet they did not stop yet to water the animals. They would make it until dark.

“God help us,” Chris muttered from in front of them. “We’d better never return than once more be ruled by the tyrant King.”

Lance looked at Joey, because he’d forgotten that while he was a child of the Revolution, Chris had been born while the British were still in control of the colonies, and probably had memories of his formative years spent under the taxing thumb of the king’s governor. Joey started singing again and didn’t say any more about England.

They met a trader on the river, a Mr. McMillan who traded up and down the Arkansas with the natives. He was most friendly, and offered to take them as far as the Arapaho summer camp, where they could meet the chief and perhaps find a guide into the mountain pass.

“You lose a lot of your group already?” the man asked. He was heavyset, so much so that he seemed constantly in danger of tipping right off of his animal. Every time his balance swaggered, Justin would snicker behind his hand. Lance caught Justin’s eye each time and smiled secretly. It was rather funny.

“No,” Chris told him curtly.

The man scratched his head. “Well, shoot. You five think you’re going to make it all the way to the ocean and back? That’s just plum foolishness, boy.”

Chris gritted his teeth and kicked his horse. “I highly doubt that the President of the United States would send fools on such an expedition. The fools would be of more use in the war. We’re the best that this country’s got, and you’d best remember that.” He rode on ahead, leaving the poor trader dumbfounded, and Joey’s quick and happy tongue there to amuse their guest for the duration of the day.

At the village they took their nightly ration of corn hominy and lard, in addition to the leeks and beets that the natives offered to them. A buffalo had been killed that day; Chris’ mouth watered at the thought of tongue for dinner. It was the most delicious meat he had ever tasted, one he sorely missed when he was away from the plains.

Tucking his shirt into his pants, Chris picked up his hat and ducked out of the make-shift tent they’d created to keep the mosquitoes away. Closer to the fire, the smoke acted as a screen for them, thankfully relieving them from the foul insects. Chris nearly tripped over Justin’s espontoon and yelled for the boy to clean up after himself. He had a horrible flashback to his own mother and shuddered as he approached the fire.

Cross-legged, Chris sat next to JC, who passed words back and forth between the natives and the visitors. He had an easy laugh, Chris thought, and his eyes squeezed shut as if they’d never been there at all.

“The chief asks where you are from,” JC said. Next to him was the elderly leader of his tribe, dressed in light buffalo skin clothing adorned with beautiful beadwork. His wife hovered behind him, doting on her husband in the most loving manner.

“A land called Pennsylvania, in the east.” Chris replied. “I am from the land of a great river called the Susquehanna.” He watched as the information was passed from language to language, until the chief nodded. He said something else in clipped short tones that made JC laugh.

“He asks if he should visit your home, since you have come to visit his.”

With a snort, Chris replied “He would not be welcome in my home. They do not take kindly to those who do not conform.” Even the Quaker founders of his great home state shunned those who did not fit into their rigid moralistic view of the world, particularly bastard children and their brazen mothers.

JC’s eyes saddened at Chris’ words, and there was something else there, Chris thought, hidden in the layers of blue. An understanding that he recognized as something JC knew all too well. Still, JC translated the words. The old chief’s face did not display much emotion, but he did not speak for a long time. When he did, JC took an equally lengthy period to translate the words.

“The Chief would like to know why he would be friends with a nation where all people are not welcomed.” JC picked up a stick and began to draw in the dirt, a sun with long-reaching rays.

Chris cursed himself for speaking so freely. “Tell the Chief we are hoping that his example will be a positive one on our country, that we may learn as much from his people as we will be able to teach them.”

JC spoke the words, and Chris nodded, got up, and hunted down his flask. He needed a drink.

Justin and Joey were sent to hunt the next day, expected to meet up with the rest of them twenty miles upriver at sunset. Justin had his powder horn hung across his shoulder, his pistol and his knife tucked into his belt. The loaded rifle in his hand grew heavy as the two men walked away from the river into the tree-covered high ground. The men of the Indian village had promised there would be ample game.

“Did you hear what that trader said to Chris?” Justin asked as they picked their way through the grass.

“He said a lot. Man couldn’t keep his mouth shut if it were stitched.” Joey’s boots squished through the swampy ground. Justin tried to keep to his footsteps.

“True. The part about us being foolish, though. Do you think he was right?” Licking his lips, Justin managed to inhale a mosquito and he coughed painfully.

Joey turned around and laughed at Justin’s fits good-naturedly. Justin didn’t feel him any ill will for it. When he once again regained his breathing, he pulled a bandana across his nose and mouth to keep the bugs away.

They began walking again, the same as before. Joey’s voice drifted back over his shoulder. “I think that all heroic men are called fools until they accomplish their goals. Look at Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Patrick Henry, Alex Hamilton. They were called fools for taking on Britain. Yet now we regard them as the wisest men of our time.”

“So you think we’ll make it?” Justin asked. He knew in his own heart that there would be no rest for his body until they had reached the great Pacific Ocean. He had always been a most determined man. He only hoped that the others would match his persistence.

Joey stopped and turned, face wide with a smile. “I’m sure we will.”

“Did you hear what Chris said to that guy, though? He said we were the best the country had.”

Joey reached back and put a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “When it’s the truth, there’s no denying.”

Justin’s heart swelled with pride. He’d worked his entire life to reach success. This journey was going to be the ultimate test. When he was just a boy, his mother had told him that if he studied hard and applied himself, he would someday be renowned and remembered as a great man. This was his moment.

“It’s the first time that I’ve heard Chris say that,” Justin confessed. “Usually he acts like we are a burden.”

Joey laughed. “I imagine that Chris thinks he could do this all on his own. He’s like that. Needs to be in control, thinks he’s capable of doing it all. Lord knows, maybe he is. But it’s better to just let him go on believing than argue about why we’re here, I’ve found.”

Justin’s feet were getting wet as water seeped through his moccasins. He began to walk, this time beside Joey. “He’s a good leader, though.”

“He is. We’re lucky to have him.” Together they moved out of the swamp and into the underbrush, where dinner awaited.

Part Four: The Rocky Mountains Music: John Williams, The Patriot

Joey hated that they had to stop at every single Indian village. They were under orders to maintain friendly relations with the natives in hopes of establishing peaceful trade relationships in the future. At each village, they dressed in full military regalia and read a speech by President Madison. It was a policy established by Jefferson ten years earlier, and Joey thought it a bunch of nonsense. The natives did not understand what they said, more interested in peering through Chris’ telescope or trying the air gun Joey carried.

He expressed this opinion to JC one day, who looked at him curiously.

“Why do you have so much hatred, Joey?” The words shocked him. Joey did not know of anyone who did not feel as he did about the natives. They were cruel people, who would maim and kill without cause.

“I do not hate,” he said, wondering what had made JC come to believe so much differently than him. “I feel pity for them, really. They’re not civilized.”

“But who defines what it means to be civilized? For the most part, they are the same as people of the east, and people of Europe. We just see them differently because we do not understand.”

Joey didn’t want to listen to this. He couldn’t stand by peacefully while JC defended those savages. Making excuses about the horses, he wandered away to repack his saddle bags and fume privately.

JC must have talked to Chris, because Joey knew as soon as their Captain approached that he was in trouble. Chris did not have a formidable demeanor about him, but when he sat down quietly next to Joseph on a log, Joey knew that Chris was displeased.

“JC tells me you do not like visiting the native villages.” Chris twirled a piece of grass between his fingers, the flying blur of green mesmerizing. It was easier to focus on that, Joey thought, that to face Chris. He took the coward’s approach and kept his eyes downward.

“I do my job,” he said defensively. “How I feel about it should not matter.”

Chris cocked his head, as if to say ‘true enough.’ “But we need the help of these people. You understand that we cannot make it to the Pacific alone.” There was no malice in his voice. He sounded more like a patient school teacher, which infuriated Joey more than if Chris had been angry. He was ashamed that his thoughts had caused him to be singled out.

“I have not had the experiences that you and JC have had with the natives,” he explained. It was one thing that he did not talk about, not ever.

“Talk to JC,” Chris urged. “Try to understand what he knows.” He patted Joey on the knee and left him to think as the evening fell.

At night, Lance watched the stars. He’d been fascinated with the heavens for as long as he could remember, and the route of the stars was key to determining his location. His astrolabe was one of his most treasured possessions, a gift from his grandfather when Lance had turned 16 and left for university. Throughout his tenure at school, Lance had spent many evenings ducking out from the dormitory warden’s careful eye to study the stars and learn how to track their positions and use them to guide his way on earth.

Sometimes, Justin would come with him, claiming to be studying the nocturnal patterns of the local animals. They would stray far from the fire, never quite losing sight of the orange glow, but giving themselves enough distance that the stars stood out brightly in the night’s sky. Lance knew the names of the pictures in the stars and taught Justin some of the stories. They’d learned new tales from the native people, and Lance loved comparing how the same specks of light created different stories.

A few hours after the sun set, when the moon had risen to a 45 degree angle in the sky, they would make their way back to camp. Lance liked these quiet moments. He was yet unsure of his role in the trip, never quite feeling that he was pulling his weight. Justin was also a man of science, and with him, Lance felt more comfortable on the journey. Justin’s smile was easy and bright, his eyes lively when they spoke. He reminded Lance of someone he had known back home, a thought as comforting as it was disturbing in a purely oxymoronic way.

JC rode next to Joey for a good portion of the next day. Joey knew exactly what was going on. Despite that, it was nearly dusk before he finally began to speak.

“My brother and I joined the Army at the same time,” he confessed. JC cocked his head surely curious. Joey had never mentioned a brother before. “We served together at Fort Duquesne, before being reassigned to the area of Prophetstown, to deal with Indian insurgences.” He took off his hand and scrubbed at his hair. “He died, trying to save a family farm nearby. They took his scalp.”

JC’s brows furrowed in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. Joey shrugged. It had been two years since Stephen’s death, and the grief did not poke at him so painfully anymore. Instead, it was a dull ache, like the throb of an old broken bone when it rained.

“That’s why I don’t like Indians,” he said. “They killed my brother.” Joey had always had a very literal sense of the world. There was good, there was bad, and the two did not overlap. Family always came first, in his mind, and those who wronged family did not receive second chances.

“Not all Indians are like that,” JC said gently, eyes not leaving Joey’s face. When their gazes did meet, Joey saw fierce resolve in JC’s face. It nearly broke his will there, but he straightened his back.

“I’ve never met one who was trustworthy,” he countered.

“My father was an Indian,” JC said. It was a considerable admission; one that Joey knew could not have come lightly from him. That was most unexpected, he thought. JC watched him for a moment, almost daring him to turn away in loathing. He did not, yet Joey could not come up with a word to say. In silence, JC smiled weakly at him, and spurned his horse forward to where Chris and Justin led, calling that there was fruit for picking on other side of the river, and they had best stop before scurvy killed them all.

They moved through fog for five days straight, with only the compass to guide them. There was no sun, only low clouds drenching them from head to toe in late summer mist. Justin’s shirt clung to his back even after shedding his jacket, wet from the elements, rather than sweat. It itched his neck and under his arms. The inside of his legs were rubbed raw from the damp rubbing against the sides of his mount. They clung close to the river, and made good time, but it was miserable travel.

On the fifth night, they camped at the base of a small knoll, with the river bending to the north nearby. Justin’s head ached painfully, as it always did during periods of damp. JC had mixed bitter tea with some unknown leaves, and forced several cups into Justin’s belly to help with the pain. He’d crawled into the tent early, curling into a tiny ball until sleep had finally wiped the pain away.

Because of the tea, Justin awoke early, his bladder fully to bursting. He ran shoeless into the trees by the river to relieve himself, nearly soaking his britches before getting them down. He sighed with relief, tipping his head back to feel the surprising warmth of sunshine. It blinded him, the brightness, but the world seemed to sparkle, rays of light dancing on the dewy prairie grasses.

“Justin.” Hearing his name, Justin turned to see Chris atop the nearby hill. He pulled up his pants and waved. Chris motioned for him to come.

“What is it?” Justin asked, climbing carefully. The grass was slippery still, catching between his bare toes.

“That.” Chris swept his arm across his chest as Justin crested the mound, and saw. In the distance stretched a chain of mountains more glorious than he had ever beheld. They were goliath peaks, tops capped in snow, reaching from north to south in a boundless barrier of tall gray stone.

Justin couldn’t form the words to describe such a magnificent view. It seemed that the edge of the earth there rose up to touch the heavens, bridging the gaps between earth and cloud. He wished fervently that he’d brought with him a camera obscura, so that he could take this image with him and show to everyone at home upon return. He knew, suddenly, that the world he had come from would never again seem quite big enough.

“The Rockies,” he said, breathless with awe. He turned to Chris, and seeing the smile on his face, Justin broke into dance. “We made it!” he cried, grabbing on to Chris’ shoulders and whirling them about the grass in a fast, furious jig. “Chris, we made it!” Justin’s hat fell to the ground and tumbled pell-mell down the hill. Justin raced down in pursuit, calling for the others. “Lance! Joey! The Rockies! We made it!”

Heads emerged from tents, and Justin grabbed Lance by the hand, pulling him back to the hill. “Come on,” he urged, as Lance stumbled and caught himself by this hands. When Justin grabbed them again, they were slick with dew and stuck with grass. Still, he tugged, until they were standing side by side, taking in the view. It was just as spectacular the second time. Lance’s jaw had dropped in wonder, the sight so unimaginable. No description had ever been able to match this splendor. Justin laughed and danced around, dandelions throwing up yellow rain at his feet. JC emerged, bedheaded and bleary eyed, but he smiled widely at the mountains. Joey stood slack-jawed at his side.

“And we’re going to climb those?” he asked skeptically. They were tall enough to disappear into the sky. Between men and mountain stretched a garden of red rock sculpture, curious statues carved by nature’s artistic hands.

Justin took a few steps down the far side of the hill, desperate to be close to those mighty mountains. He said a short prayer of thanks, for the creation of such beautiful features and for giving him the opportunity to see them. Lance’s mouth moved silently in the same manner.

Over his shoulder, Justin stared impatiently at the others. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Let’s go!”

“Maybe you should put some shoes on,” Joey suggested, and Justin looked down at his bare feet, embarrassed to have been so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten his beloved moccasins.

They broke camp at breakneck speed, led not by the hands of experience but the eagerness of youth.

“I recognize this place,” Chris said as they set out. “That tall one, there, is Pike’s Peak. No mountain found on this continent matches its altitude.”

“I wish we’d been here first,” Justin lamented as they set out. Even the horses seemed to move at a brisker pace, now that they could see their goal so clearly.

“It doesn’t matter,” JC said. “Beauty such as this does not fade, the more eyes that are upon it.” He spurned his horse to trot faster, all the while whistling a merry tune. “We will have plenty of time for first that put even this to shame.”

Beside him, Lance winked at Justin and hurried to catch up to Chris, eager to pick his brain about maps, most likely. Justin studied the mountains before them, and thought about JC’s words. There was more than this, he thought. He couldn’t imagine anything outranking this moment as the most significant in his life, but the hope for further discoveries made his heart leap and tumble with glee.

They crossed the valley of the red rocks in just under a week, observing the remains of several abandoned native villages. The weather was growing cooler, the sun setting earlier. As they approached the mountains, Joey worried that they would not get out of them by the first snow.

When he confided in the leader, Chris had shifted from foot to foot, stared up at the high peaks so long that Joey feared he may have begun daydreaming, and finally turned back to Joey with determination painted across his face. “We’ll make it in, but not out,” he promised. “We’ll find a place to camp before the deserts.”

Joey knew nothing of deserts. The plains they’d crossed thus far and the rocky terrain they now explored were already so foreign to him. The space made his skin itch. He was used to the close-knit shelter of buildings or trees. Never had he seen land so open, with nothing to protect him. From what, he knew not, but he longed again for the protection. In that way, the rocky lands ahead looked promising, with their high walls and tight spaces.

He thought of his brother, as he always did when adventure presented himself. Joey’s older brother had been the adventurous one, while Joey had been the loving fool. He wished that they could have experienced this together.

Chris laid a hand on his shoulder, and Joey folded his own palm on top. He’d grown to trust Chris implicitly. Under their leader’s wit and charm was a sound head and capable mind. If Joey could not have his brother, he was glad for Chris.

That night, they had visitors at their camp, natives who offered to show them the way through the mountains. They performed ritual dances, dragging JC up to his feet to participate.

“He looks like one of them,” Chris whispered into Joey’s ear. As JC hopped from foot to foot with the beats of the drums, Joey had to agree.

“He’s a half-breed,” Joey confessed, hoping JC would not be upset with him for breaking their confidence. On the trail, Joey could never tell, but here. JC was so at ease amongst the natives, more so than any man with true white blood could ever be.

Chris didn’t take his eyes off of the dancers, subconsciously seeking out JC’s form as he jumped and twisted beyond the flames. “I’d believe it,” he said carefully, not looking at Joey.

“Does that make you worried?” Joey asked. He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to stay warm. Despite their months of friendly relations with the natives, Joey did not trust these people. He laid a hand over his gun, sitting close by his side.

With an unreadable expression, Chris turned his face to Joey. The firelight danced over his features. “What made you so untrusting?” he asked.

Joey looked around the campfire and shook his head. It was not a conversation for this place. He would tell Chris. Later.

As he watched the dancers, Joey caught the eye of a woman from across the fire. She smiled shyly, and he returned the gesture of good faith. Perhaps, he would be lucky enough to have a warm body in bed with him that night.

The fact that he was sleeping in a tipi excited Justin so much that he was hardly able to lay still. He rolled again, this time facing into the circle of bodies inside the funny conical tent. He could hear Joey’s noisy snores from across the way.

“Sleep, Justin.” Lance’s grumpy voice mumbled in his ear. Justin sat up a bit and looked at Lance, whose head was brushed up against his.

“I’m trying,” he whined, knowing he sounded terribly childish. The grass was smooth beneath his body, the blanket warm on his lap. His nose itched with the scented woods that kept the fire burning lowly between them.

Lance sat up, then, shifting around so he was lying behind Justin. He threw an arm across Justin’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “Sleep,” he said again, only this time his head was close enough that Justin’s hair ruffled with the words. It tickled his neck and warmed his blood. He shivered, but settled under the heavy weight of Lance’s arm and closed his eyes.

Lance stopped at noon the next day, easing out of the saddle with a wince of pain. The rocky terrain in the foothills made for rough riding, and his ass felt like it had been assaulted with a mallet like a side of beef.

“Here.” JC tossed him a small tin of cream. “This should help.” Lance took it with thanks and ambled off into the bushes to coat his ass in private.

He stopped by a small creek, cupping his hands to drink and splash his face with the cool water. His legs ached as he untied his chaps and eased down his pants. His fingers dripped with the sharp-smelling goo, but it tingling soothingly as it coated his flesh. Awkwardly, he coated his sore ass.

On the way back, Lance detoured toward a large rock outcropping. It was shaped a bit like a rabbit, two splayed ears sticking up in the air. He rounded the corner and came to a halt, in shock. Before him stood Justin, pants at his knees, hand working furiously on his dick. His faced the rock, back to Lance, oblivious of the intrusion.

Lance knew that he shouldn’t be there watching. He knew that he should turn around, before Justin saw him. But Justin was moaning softly, his arm flying in a blur of motion. Lance’s eyes were pinned to his back, shoulders hunched. One of Justin’s arms was propped up against the rock, his fingers curled into a fist that pounded the stone. He cursed, making Lance’s heart race. When Justin’s shoulders tensed and white splattered the stone, Lance knew he had to move quickly or be caught.

Between his legs, Lance’s own hardness throbbed as he ran from the rock as quietly as possible. He skirted the edges of the river, back into the trees, breathing heavily, hands on his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the images that swept through. In his mind, it wasn’t Justin but Nicholas who was pleasuring himself, in a hayloft thousands of miles away.

Lance heard Joey calling his name, and he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. When he stood upright, he could see Joey in the distance. He waved weakly as Joey approached.

“Is everything all right?” Joey asked, lips turned down in concern. Lance nodded, remembering why he’d left camp in the first place. He’d forgotten about the pain in his backside.

“Much better,” he said, handing the tin of ointment to Joey. “You should try this.”

If Joey noticed the flush in his cheeks or the bulge in his pants, he did not say. Rather, he took the tin, and with an arm around Lance’s shoulder, led them back to camp.

Somewhere along the way, Chris realized, the five vagabond travelers had become a very close-knit group. He knew that while the President may not have chosen the most experienced men for this expedition, he had chosen the best.

They rejoiced for only hours upon reaching the foothills of the mountains, an elongated lunch celebrated with local Indians. They brought licorice to flavor the meal, and cornbread, which the five men had not tasted in months. Then they were off again, riding up the sloping hillsides toward the ever-ominous mountains ahead of them.

Lance never put down the compass, Chris noted, constantly making adjustments on his map. Chris had never seen a man more diligent in his work. He put more effort into his calculations than Chris put into a week’s worth of navigation.

“Hey, Lance,” Chris called from the back of his horse. Lance always rode at the back of the line, because he was constantly stopping to measure things a second or even third time. Lance’s head popped up at Chris’ call, eyes squinting into the sun.

“Yes?”

“Come and ride up here,” he said, waving with his arm. With a click of his heels, Lance urged his horse forward until they rode side-by-side. Lance eyed him warily until Chris laughed. “I’m not going to bite you.”

“Is something wrong, then?” His hands twisted in the reigns.

Ever proper, even when petrified with fear. Chris nearly laughed at that as well. “No. Just. You need to put the books away for a while. Enjoy the scenery. It’s going to be a bitch of a journey soon enough.” Indeed, he thought. They were close enough to the mountains to have a taste of chill in the air.

Lance just shrugged in his saddle. “I appreciate it.” His face was upturned to the sky, the warm sun kissing pink on his cheeks. How someone so fair had not turned beet red in the sun, he did not know.

“But look at Justin,” Chris said, pointing out their naturalist. He was trying to describe the flight pattern of a particular bird to JC, nearly falling out of his saddle as his arms swooped. He laughed happily, grabbing for his hat, catching himself on the saddle horn. The bird he discussed swooped overhead, and he grabbed for his notebook and began sketching as JC talked about the creature. “He’s doing his work, but he’s enjoying it. You hardly ever smile.” It wasn’t that Chris was concerned, really. He just knew that a happy party was more likely to be successful than one seeped in misery.

Lance’s eyes were still on Justin as his quick hands captured the image of the bird. “I am not Justin.” He said it in a way that made Chris think perhaps Lance wished he were.

“I’m not asking you to be,” he was quick to reassure. Lord knew, he didn’t want Lance to become upset with him. Insubordination was one thing Chris had no patience for. One of many things, come to think of it. “Just. Lighten up.”

Lance was still watching Justin. “I’ll try.”

“I’ll take away your compass,” Chris warned, earning a deathly stare from Lance. “Kidding. I’m only fooling, really. Down, killer.”

That at least got a small chuckle out of Lance, who turned his attention back to the trail. “So tell me what I’m looking at,” he asked, “so I can appreciate it.”

In the evening they pulled out the maps and tracked a route through the mountains. They needed to get through the pass in two weeks time, to find the source of the Colorado River that they might follow down to the valleys. In the distance, the coyotes hollowed in high, lonesome tones.

“You think we will get lost,” JC said, his accent almost untraceable when he whispered. Joey, Lance, and Justin were already fast asleep under their blankets. Only Chris and JC stayed awake, studying the maps and notations they’d gotten from a man named Gonzalez who traded in these parts.

“I think there’s a lot out there that isn’t on the map. We’re going into Apache country, and we’re close to the Spanish border.” Years ago, with Pike, Chris had the good fortune to be stopped by a border patrol and marched to Mexico City for trial. It was an episode he did not wish to repeat.

JC patted Chris’s head, matting his hair, letting his hand drift down and linger on Chris’ shoulder. “We’ll be fine,” JC said. “We just need to get over the mountains before the snow falls.”

“Without starving to death,” Chris said. Already, they were increasing the food supplies, leaving behind unnecessary parcels and increasing the amount of dried meat, fruit, and vegetables. “We’ll all be eating candles by the end of it if we do not find the right path.”

“Lance is a good navigator,” JC reassured. “We’ll make it out alive.”

In the flickering glow of the fire, Chris smiled at JC and knew that this man and his eternal optimism were his saving grace on the journey.

Part Five: Winter Camp  
Music: Aaron Copland, Appalachian Spring

After four days of listening to Justin complain about splitting logs, Chris was ready to go mad. When JC suggested a hunting trip for meat, he was more than happy to volunteer to tag along.

“Do you three think you’ll be alright?” he asked for the thousandth time, tightening the straps on his backpack. If there were no animals nearby, he and JC would have to spend the night rather than wandering in the dark.

Lance rolled his eyes and hefted the axe again. Behind him, the crude log cabin was beginning to take shape. Justin, finally having given up on the back-breaking labor, was daubing the chinks with grass and mud to cut down on the winds whipping through the walls and trap the heat inside. “We’ll be fine,” Lance assured him. “Worse thing that happens is Joey and I kill Justin for making us do all of the axe work.”

“Hey!” Justin shouted in protest, and Chris laughed obligingly, but still worried. There was a lot that could go wrong. He pulled Joey aside around the back of the cabin.

“Be careful,” he warned. The threat of Spanish parties was very real, and they didn’t take kindly to trespassers. Joey patted his musket, and Chris finally felt a bit less worried. Joey at least had the training to keep them safe.

Chris and JC made good time, talking occasionally but not constantly. It gave Chris time to think as they traipsed quietly through the trees. JC was a good leader, holding branches back out of the way so they didn’t snap in Chris’ face as he followed.

“There’s nothing out here,” Chris said after a while. They stopped by a creek, taking time to drink from its frigid waters. The leaves were tinted gold in the mid-autumn season. “We’ve made camp in the world’s only uninhabited forest.”

JC wiped him mouth with the back of his hand. “We can always get some small animals.” There were plenty of squirrels and rabbits. The thought of living on rabbit stew alone made Chris grimace. He wished he had some buffalo jerky left, but they’d eaten the last of that three days ago. They were down to roots, berries, and rabbit stew.

“Let’s keep going,” Chris said. His mouth was watering for venison, and he’d been in this region before. The herds should be sticking close to the streams this time of year. “If we follow this creek downstream, we might find something.”

JC shrugged, always amicable. They kept walking, boots sinking in the freezing mud on the riverside. Chris watched JC’s back, the way his jacket stretched across his shoulders. Despite the scarcity of food, they’d all grown in muscle mass during the journey. It was hard work, blazing trails, poling up river, splitting logs. JC wasn’t the skinny man he’d been at the hotel in St. Louis when Chris had first met him.

They walked until dark, and Chris was dead tired, feet aching by the time they stopped. Three days rest at the campsite and he’d already grown soft to trail life.

When they found a small clearing, far enough back from the stream that the ground wasn’t damp, Chris begged them to stop. The sun had fallen below the tree line, casting dappled light between the leaves.

“I’d done,” Chris declared, falling to the ground. JC turned to him, silly smile on his face.

“You want to stop?” He swung down his pack, not complaining at all. He leaned the rifle against a tree.

Chris set to work building a fire while JC ducked into the bush in search of dinner. He came back with a duck, to which Chris set up a shout of glee and launched himself at JC in a massive hug, throwing them both off step, stumbling back into the underbrush.

Of course, that meant JC made him pluck the duck. He made a game of it, throwing the feathers into the fire, watching them burn. They kept the softest, downiest feathers, stuffing them into JC’s extra shirt. It would be nice to have pillows during the winter.

“Do we have to share with the others?” Chris asked. “Or do we get to keep these?”

JC looked at the pile. “I don’t even know if there’s enough for two.”

“We can share,” Chris said, then blushed at the thought. There was no sieve on his mouth, filtering out the thoughts that should stay private. “I mean, take turns.”

JC smiled at him, a glimmer in his eyes as the sun settled into a cozy pink glow. Above them, the moon was already glowing.

They slow-roasted the duck on a spit over the fire, taking their time, talking about things they’d already talked about a million times. JC was easy to talk to, and of all the men, Chris felt the most comfortable around JC. They had things in common- their childhood on the frontier, their dubious heritages, and their adventures on other expeditions. It was easy to trade stories from their past, and Chris never felt that JC was judging him or wrinkling his nose as Chris talked about some of the shadier events of his life.

“Is this thing done yet?” Chris asked. His wrist was killing from rotating the spit. JC peeled back the skin and poked at the meat with a stick.

“Looks done,” he said, and Chris wasted no time pulling out a hunk of meat and stuffing his mouth, fanning frantically as it burned, but oh, it was so good. Juicy and tender and delicious. It was the most delicious thing Chris had ever tasted.

“Do you know what I miss?” JC asked, picking at the flaky skin. He munched happily, talking with his mouth full. “Popcorn.”

Chris thought of the ears of fluffy kernels that some of his Indian guides ate. “That would taste so good right now.”

“Do you have something like that?” JC asked. “Something you miss while you’re out here?”

Chris thought back to his life in the east. “Strawberries,” he finally said, picturing the sweet red berries as one might picture heaven. “I would kill for some strawberries.”

JC smiled wistfully at him. “Yeah, me too.”

With full bellies, they watched the stars twinkle from light specs to brilliant patterns in the sky. “Do you think we’re gonna find anything spectacular out there?”

“Where?” Chris asked. “The Pacific?” The air had grown cold around them, and he pulled a blanket from his pack, wrapping it around his shoulders. Across the fire, JC did the same. Bundled up, Chris thought about what JC had asked.

“The Pacific, or. Something. Something unexpected.”

“I don’t know.” It was an exciting prospect. As much of the country as Chris had seen, he’d never made it all the way to the Pacific Ocean. That alone was a magical concept. What else might be out there, beyond the mountains, beyond the desert- he couldn’t even imagine.

The fire burned lower, so JC got up to add some more logs. Chris stretched out his bedroll, stuffing the make-shift pillow under his head. When JC came back, his mouth twisted into a pout.

“Who says you get the first turn?” he asked, unrolling his own bedding. He was shivering when he lay down next to Chris.

“Here,” Chris said, lifting up his blanket. “If we double them, it will be warmer.” JC smiled thankfully, hair falling in front of his eyes as he carefully lined up the two blankets and draped them across the bed rolls.

“Thanks,” he said, sliding in beside Chris. It was much warmer with two bodies, heat radiating under the warm woolen blankets. Soon, they would need tents to camp. The frost would come in just a few days.

Chris watched the firelight play over JC’s features, the dancing flames making his skin glow like amber. Chris was drawn to JC like a moth to a flame, a dangerous attraction yet an unavoidable one.

“JC,” he whispered, voice even higher than usual, hoarse with need. JC’s pink tongue peeked out, wetting his lips to reply. Yet when he mouthed the word, “Yes?” no sound came out.

“Do you ever,” Chris asked, head tilting towards JC’s slowly. “I mean, do you ever think about…” his voice trailed off, not able to vocalize the need racing through his body. Before he knew what he was doing, Chris’ head was moving forward, his lips brushing up against JC’s, soft and pliable, asking for something that Chris couldn’t even identify, but JC seemed to know how to give. He parted his lips slightly, kissing back with gentle movements and soft breaths warm on Chris’ cheek.

When he pulled back, Chris knew his eyes were wide with questions, and with fright. Men didn’t do those things in the real world. But they weren’t back east; they weren’t bound to the rules of civilization. Things were different out here; the rules of behavior that governed them back east didn’t always apply. Chris hoped JC understood that, understood Chris’ need.

Gently, JC smiled at him, eyes narrowing as his cheeks drew up. “Goodnight, Chris,” he whispered, and closed his eyes. Chris watched as the lashes swept down along JC’s cheeks, marveling at their length and grace. He rolled, turning his back to JC so the fire could warm his face while he slept, and close his eyes, drifting into a deep, undisturbed slumber.

Chris thought that JC might say something to him the next morning. It was the first thing that came into his mind when consciousness returned to his body, the kiss. How good it had felt to press his lips against JC’s in the dark cold of night, wrapped in warm blankets with a raging fire at his back. How he wanted to do it again, and again, and every night for the rest of his days.

But JC didn’t say anything, only offered up a sleepy smile as he wiped the crust from his eyes and stretched in a magnificent yawn. They shared some apples for breakfast, sour tiny fruit pulled from a rogue tree near camp. Chris’ stomach rumbled unhappily, yearning for more of the duck from last night, but they’d picked the bones clean at dinner.

JC let Chris take the lead as they left camp, singing merrily behind him, in French, so Chris could only listen and nod along, not understanding the words. The tune was merry enough, and Chris often found himself humming along, letting his mind make up his own words, creating a song about five men on an adventure.

He pulled up short where the stream emptied into a pond, early morning sun just breaking over the tops of the mountains in the distance. In front of them stood a buck, proud and glorious in the dawning light.

Chris gestured frantically to JC, who reached for the gun. The crack of the shot sent birds fluttering through the trees in surprise and fear, but JC’s aim was good, and it only required one shot to bring down the deer.

Chris let out a whoop of joy and charged through the marsh to where the animal lay. “We’ll eat like kings,” he declared, excited for the prospect of a real filling meal for the first time since they’d left the buffalo lands behind.

JC’s eyes shown with happiness, as glad as Chris that they would not need to return home unsuccessful. There was more than enough meat on the mighty deer to feed five men, and plenty to salt and dry for the rest of the winter. Plus, the coat would provide much-needed skin to patch Justin’s holy jacket.

They worked together to carve up the animal, filling packs and slinging the rest of the carcass on a pole to be carried between their shoulders. It was early enough in the morning that they would be able to make it back to the cabin in one day’s walk. If they could remember the way.

Chris had a sense for these things, so JC let him lead. “I get lost easily,” he admitted, and Chris could see why. JC’s mind always seemed full of thoughts and words. There was little room for things like directions. He followed the marks they had made on the trail the previous day, adept at looking for deliberately broken branches or little piles of stones to mark the way. They stopped for lunch when the sun reached its peak in the sky, sharing meat and more of the foul apples.

“What do we do during the winter?” JC asked, and Chris studied him, curiously.

“You’ve never been on the trail during the winter.”

With a shake of his head, JC’s curls bounced under his hat. “Not alone. At Indian camps, or at forts. Never like this.”

It was different, Chris knew. The lack of company would drive some people mad. “We sleep. Play cards, sing. Tell stories that are so exaggerated that they couldn’t possibly be true.” JC caught the sparkle in his eyes and laughed, a bright sound that blended perfectly with the gurgling water and chirping birds in the valley.

“I think I’ll enjoy winter,” he said. “Those are all my favorite things to do. Just, spending time with people.” He stared at Chris carefully before he spoke again. “Special people.”

Chris gulped carefully, trying not to let the emotion show on his face. “It takes special people to survive out here.” JC nodded and Chris knew, he knew, that JC was thinking about the kiss from the night before.

“We should get moving,” Chris said, brushing the dirt from his bottom as he stood. “We want to make it home before dark.” They hadn’t brought lanterns with them on this short journey.

JC stood as well and hoisted his end of the pole to his shoulder, grunting under the heavy weight of the deer. “When we get back, they’re cleaning this beast.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris agreed. He began to walk, following their backwards footsteps from yesterday back to the cabin.

It would have been nice to have a feast when they returned, but it was more important to ration the meat. Still, servings were slightly larger than average, and they were able to eat under a solid roof thanks to the efforts of Joey, Justin, and Lance while Chris and JC were gone.

That night, the wind whipped through the window and door openings of the cabin, yet to be covered with a substantial door or shutter. Chris shivered under his blanket and rolled onto the edge of his mattress closest to the fire. The dried grass inside rustled noisily, but his sleeping friends did not stir. None, but JC, who stared at him from across the room with eyes that glowed like embers.

Chris watched as if disconnected from his body as JC rose and crossed the room, climbing onto Chris’s mattress, between his body and the wall. Chris rolled as JC slithered under his blanket, draping the extra on top to create a double layer of warmth, just like on the trail.

“OK?” JC whispered, and Chris nodded wordlessly, studying JC with unequivocal curiosity. When JC rolled to his side and studied him back, Chris felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He was not used to drawing attention to himself.

And when JC leaned down to kiss him lightly, Chris’ lips curved into a smile under the touch of JC’s mouth, because this was exactly the way things should be.

The early days of winter were busy with assessing their collections and observations thus far. Together, they formulated a set of journals and notes to send back to the President as soon as they met a trader heading east. Justin had identified several new varieties of birds and reptiles, along with a peculiar brown mouse that had crawled into his cocoon of blankets early one morning. Lance had mapped the source of the Colorado River, and all of its tributaries with great detail. Chris was sure that this information, along with his own observations of the natives in the region would be extremely valuable to the trappers and traders who would follow them west.

For the holidays, they strung pine boughs across the top of their make-shift fireplace and sang carols after a meal of turkey and vegetables they’d been given by a group of natives. Joseph read the Christmas story from his Bible, in a strong careful voice, while the others sipped hot teas around the fire. JC found himself more content than he had ever been before. Holidays were never a pleasant time for him.

He excused himself to the outhouse after the story, running because it was cold. On his way back, Chris met him in the door.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow. JC nodded briskly, anxious to get back into the warm. He felt the cold down to his bones, longing for the days of summer.

“Mmmm,” he mumbled, as Chris ran his hands up and down JC’s arms. It helped warm him a little. His breath came in short pants of clouds. “Just. Christmas does not have fond memories, for me.”

“Nor me,” Chris said. “People always seem so much more holy around the holiday. As if they need to reinforce their condemnations of the tainted souls.”

“My mother left me at Christmastime,” JC confessed, resting his hands carefully on Chris’ shoulders. They did not do this in the daytime as a rule, but JC’s heart needed comfort and would not be denied. “It is hard.” He remembered staring up at the door of a house in town, heart full of fear as his mother brushed snow from his shoulders. His daddy was never coming back, he knew, and now his momma said that he’d be better living here than with her. He learned later that his father had been an Algonquin Indian, his mother the daughter of a parish minister caught between worlds when his father passed away. It was better, his mother decided, for JC to be raised by her sister and husband, rather than live life on the sidelines of two different societies, not fitting into either.

With the memory of his mother’s eyes, bright blue and shining, JC blinked back his own tears. “My parents are good people,” he said. “But it is at Christmas that I remember her.”

Chris wrapped his arms around JC in a hug, not too tight, just there as support as JC drew in shaky breaths. “It’s cold,” he finally said, laughing a bit into Chris’s icy ear. Chris laughed too, and opened the door behind him so they could go back inside.

There was something extraordinarily warm about JC’s arms, more than sunshine in summer or firelight in autumn. More then both combined, because they carried with them a sense of security and safety in the great unknown world where they currently rested.

Waking up, wrapped in those arms, afforded Chris a moment of pure indulgence every morning, warm and cozy under a double layer of blankets, JC’s breath tickling the hair beneath his ear. They’d taken the time to stuff mattresses in the late fall, and though they rested lower to the ground than any real bed would, the padding and the buffalo hides draped across them made for a most comfortable resting spot.

Across the cabin, Chris could see Lance’s eyes on him, wide orbs the color of new spring leaves. He knew that the others were talking. Let them. JC’s arms tightened around Chris’s middle, and he cuddled back, just a bit.

When he traveled with Pike, he’d had an Indian woman who’d shared his bed for the first part of the journey. After they’d parted ways, sleep had been miserable. Chris couldn’t understand men who left their wives for the west. Though he felt the pull of the mountains, he couldn’t imagine walking away from these mornings. Waking beside someone, sharing space and heat and maybe even more, was more satisfying than even the most beautiful river or mountain.

He felt JC stir, and closed his eyes, willing JC to fall back to sleep. The sun had not yet risen out side, and they had nothing but time while they winter winds blew outside, trapping them here until spring once again let them move west.

“Chris.”

Chris froze, hands curled tightly on the handle of his axe. It was amazing how just his name could translate everything that Joey wanted to say. Chris knew that his moment of happy ignorance was now behind them.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, hoisting the tool over his head, feeling the shock echo up his arms and shoulders as it cut through the log in one fast swoop. They needed more wood- the pile along the side of the cabin was running dangerously low, and if the bitter cold were to befall them, conditions for chopping would be miserable. As it was, his feet were near frozen, snow rising to the top of his boots.

“It’s not right, Chris.” Joey picked up the split wood and carried it to the stack. He rested with his hands on the logs, not looking at Chris as he spoke. “It’s sinful.”

Chris knew that religion played as much a part of Joey’s life as it left an absence in his. “I think we’re out of the realm of God’s territory in these parts.” He’d meant it as a joke, but the hot anger that flashed on Joey’s face when he turned made Chris wish he could take back the words.

“The whole earth is God’s kingdom,” Joey preached, “and his eyes are everywhere. You don’t think that you can do something like that, something so wrong, and hide it from the Lord. He sees all, Chris, and what you are doing. You’ll burn.”

“At least my feet would thaw,” Chris muttered. Joey looked at him disapprovingly, and though Chris hated that Joey made him defend what felt so right, he also felt a deep regret at the disappointment in Joey’s eyes. He sighed, and cut through another log. “You have to understand that the rules are different out here. You can’t just take your rules and regulations and throw them down on a place like this, where there are no rules.”

“They’re God’s rules,” Joey protested, again stacking the split logs. His hair was covered in snow, like a proper gentleman’s wig. “They apply everywhere on His planet.”

Chris wished he could explain this better, but his words never seemed to reflect what made perfect sense in his head. “You haven’t done this before. The loneliness. It’ll kill you if you don’t find some way to fight back.” On previous journeys, he’d been with a troupe of many more men, so many that loneliness was never an issue. Only on his independent travels had Chris felt the pull of madness from the wilderness, with no one there to talk him back to reality. He knew how valuable it was to have JC’s companionship here. He just didn’t know how to explain it to Joey.

“That’s no excuse for sodomy.” Joey whispered the word, pulled in close to Chris’s ear. Chris eased himself out of Joey’s grip.

“It’s not like that. We don’t do that,” he said. Not yet.

“You kiss. I’ve seen you.”

“I kiss my mother but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck her.” Chris went back to chopping, bringing the axe up to his shoulder. Joey moved a safe distance away. The metal blade deflected from the log, sending Chris toppling off balance, into the snow. Joey was there with a hand to help him up.

“I see the way you look at him,” he said, unable to let go of the topic. Chris dropped his hand bitterly. “I’m not your mother or your priest, but I. I had to say something.”

“It’s my life to ruin,” Chris said. Fire raged in his belly. He’d spent too many years being judged by the theology of others. “So unless you want to find yourself alone in the middle of Colorado, I suggest you back down.”

Joey nodded mutely, understanding that there was no reasoning with Chris when he got that irrationality in his eyes. “I won’t say another word on it,” he promised. Gently, he took the axe from Chris’ hands. “Let me finish.” They battled with their eyes for a few minutes before Chris relented, dropping his hands. He was rather cold.

“You’re not going to make things difficult, are you? Stop following orders or the like?” He sneered at Joey, who cut through the wood with easy, even strokes. Chris had never met a man so strong.

“No.” Whack, and the wood fell away in two pieces. Thump, as he placed another long on the block. “Not my life, not my worry.”

“Ok,” Chris said. He knew that wasn’t the end of it, but for now, it would have to do.

Part Six: Falling In Love  
Music: Aaron Copland, Grand Canyon Suite, Sunrise

The winter of 1813 was long, and bitterly cold. They were locked inside for most of the days, protected from the wind by only a flimsy door and shutters. It was, Lance thought, the most brutal experience of his life. There were days when the ache to do something, to move, was so strong that he felt pulled in seven different directions.

The best days were the ones when they had visitors. The native people of the region had little exposure to white people, and had never seen United States citizens before. They were fascinated with the tools of the white men, and provided hours of entertainment. Lance relaxed during these times- his job was not to record the tales of the natives. It fell to Chris to make his observations, which were also of great interest to the natives.

They came in groups of various sizes, sitting on the beds strung by the walls or standing in the middle of the room, examining the architecture of their crude shelter. It was unlike any dwelling on this side of the Rockies, the log cabin structure favored in the eastern Appalachian mountains.

Lance liked these days best because Justin would press up against his side and whisper in his ear, silly translations of the native people or jokes about their clothes. It wasn’t kind to make fun of these people, Lance knew, but there was also a part of him that just cried out for relief of the seriousness that he woke up with every day. Living in a world where everything was life-threatening certainly took its tolls.

There was something warming about Justin, and his carefree attitude. Nothing fazed him. He worked hard, something Lance appreciated despite the teasing. There was an admirable determination in Justin.

He knew it was a dangerous path, but Lance indulged himself in the small moments. JC and Chris had already broken over the line of caution in this matter, and while Lance held no true belief that the same would happen for himself, he let fantasy dominate his winter.

Two men came one day, to speak to the five explorers. They sat on the rugs in front of the fire, and spoke in broken Spanish. It was Joey, it turned out, who did the best job of interpreting. His parents spoke Italian, which he said was close enough to fumble through.

“Where is your chief?” Joey asked slowly. They fumbled with the words for a moment before shaking their heads and answering quickly in their own language.

“They think we think one of them is chief,” JC said, having seen similar body language before. Both he and Joey began to speak, trying to communicate the true message. Lance turned to Justin and smiled. This could go on for hours.

Then, the taller of the two men reached to the man next to him and placed on hand over his partner’s, holding up the two hands. He said the word again, shaking their joint hands to emphasize. Joey looked confused. Chris’ face paled. JC’s eyes stretched wide and his mouth opened in a little circle.

Lance sat on the bed and watched the scene as if it were one from a play. “What’s going on?” Justin asked him, as if Lance were the keeper of secrets of the universe.

Lance watched the look exchanged between the two men as JC started to talk wildly, in every native tongue he could fathom. “I think they are lovers,” Lance murmured, the very words blasphemy. They are like me, he thought, only they can admit it freely.

Justin’s eyebrows rose into his hair, before burrowing together in a stitch of confusion. “But why do they admit it?” Lance studied him curiously, surprised there was no disgust in his tone. Justin, it seemed, had a rather tenuous grasp on church doctrine, particularly for one who claimed to be so enamored with the works of God.

JC’s questions seemed to have sparked a flood of answers from both men, who gestured wildly, drawing shapes in the rug to illustrate their sentences. It sounded like gibberish to Lance, but JC was nodding animatedly, and when they switched to Spanish, Joey slowly bobbed his head in understanding.

Chris’ quill was poised for translation, though Lance noticed he seemed much more focused on these two visitors than any of their previous guests.

“They say that it is the way of the people,” JC said, licking his lips. Joey offered him a dram of cool water, which he drank greedily. “They say that no person should be wasted.”

It was, Lance thought, the most knowledgeable thing he’d ever heard. Justin squeezed his hand, and Lance looked to him quickly, afraid that he had somehow guessed Lance’s secret. He saw only happy, contented sparkles in Justin’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Their visitors stayed through the evening meal, and spent the night on the rugs by the fire. In the morning, Chris presented them with the usual medals of honor from the United States government, but also with two of their tin cups and some sugar sweets he had been saving. Lance watched the two men leave, shoulder to shoulder as they retreated to the woods.

“This is a strange world,” Joey commented, standing beside Lance as they left. Lance looked up at the sun and prayed.

Lance had never spent so long away from home, and sometimes it hit him like a wheelbarrow full of bricks to the chest. On cold winter nights, his mother had always heated warm cups of cider and read to them by the fire, even after they were old enough to read on their own. She’d loved Shakespeare, and as he froze in their tiny cabin, Lance closed his eyes and tried to remember his mother’s lilting voice.

When he thought of those times, he could forget about all of the bitterness that had surrounded his departure.

“You OK?” Justin asked, poking at Lance’s leg with a quill. He was writing again, chronically their every step in his thick journals. Lance envied Justin’s way with words.

“Mmmm. Just thinking about home.” Lance slid down to the floor, where a thick buffalo rug stretched in front of the fire. Justin shifted around across from him to make room.

“You know, your accent is fading,” Justin commented. He smiled a bright beam of sunshine into the dark winter day.

“Yeah?” Lance hadn’t even noticed. He imagined a lot of his refined mannerisms were also diminishing. “I guess the frontier changes things.”

“Like,” Justin nodded in the direction of Chris and JC, who were sitting at a table in the corner with lanterns and maps. Their heads were bent close together intimately.

Lance looked away, feeling like he intruded on a private moment. “We don’t know what’s going on,” he said. He wouldn’t jump to conclusions, not after what had happened back in Georgia.

“Come on,” Justin said, staring blatantly, “It’s so obvious.” He sounded like a schoolboy with a new piece of gossip, desperate to tell someone.

Lance just shrugged and walked away, bundling into his coat and scarf. Outside, the wind cut through his body bitterly, but he needed to be alone, and braving the cold was the only way.

He walked for a few minutes before stopping at a grove of small trees. He leaned against the brittle bark, head thumping hard on the trunk. Ow, he thought bitterly. Even the trees were out to get him.

“Lance?” From behind him, Chris’ voice carried across the snow. Crunching footsteps came to a stop at his side. “Are you well?”

Lance nodded. “I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

Chris nodded mutely, but did not leave. Lance stared into the woods, where a couple of birds dance through the barren branches. It had been a long winter.

“Justin said you were bothered by JC and myself.” Chris’ eyes focused on the birds as well. “Is that it?”

“No,” Lance said, a bit too hastily. He turned to Chris, hoping that would find understanding in Chris’ eyes. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Chris shrugged in his jacket, burrowing his hands into his pockets more deeply. “It should.”

“Well it doesn’t!” Lance snapped. His temper was running a short fuse. “Can you just let it be, please?”

“I can,” Chris said, not moving away. Lance respected him for standing his ground, really he did, he wished Chris would go away. He didn’t want to talk about this, not ever again.

“Please,” he said, slightly huffy, and Chris shrugged again.

“You are a good man, Lance. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Chris patted his back. It was so unexpected that Lance tipped forward, hands catching on his knees. He leaned on the tree for support, feeling bad for being so short with Chris.

“It truly does not bother me,” he promised, and Chris’ raised eyebrows showed he did not believe Lance at all. “It does not,” he said more firmly.

“Are you not a God-fearing man?” Chris knew that he was. It was a leading question.

Lance wasn’t sure how much to tell, but here in the woods, the truth seemed to leak from his mouth without any further provocation. “I understand how you are feeling,” Lance said. He knew that Chris had talked to Joey about loneliness- Joey had later confided in him. Joey’s reaction was, in part, what reinforced Lance’s resolution to keep this terrible secret. But Joey wasn’t here, and if there was anyone who would understand, it would be Chris.

“My father didn’t send me on this expedition to be a hero. He sent me here with the hopes that I would die in the wilderness.” Lance was filled with bitter anger as he thought of their last heated conversation. “He sent me with hopes that my disgraces would never be made public or bring shame to the family.”

Chris didn’t have to ask what his disgraces were. Lance could tell by the sympathetic look on his face that Chris understood perfectly. He waited, shivering in the cold, suddenly hyperaware of his frigid toes. He wiggled them, waiting for Chris to say something. Anything.

A hand crept up on his shoulder, rubbing gently. “Things are different out here,” Chris said, finally. “You are a good man, Lance. No matter what, that is the most important thing.”

Lance sniffed a bit, not willing to cry in front of Chris. It was just so much to deal with, homesickness and those feelings he’d worked so hard to squash like tomatoes in his mothers sauce.

“I’m going to go see if Justin will play cards,” Chris said. “Will you join us?”

Lance nodded, wiping at his eyes. Frozen tears stung his cheeks. “In a moment.”

“Sure,” Chris said, lifting his hand and walking away. Lance waiting in the cold for a long time before finally walking back inside.

The days were growing longer, the sun rising earlier to greet them each morning that came. Soon, Chris thought, as his mind sleepwalked into the world, they would be leaving, moving on towards the Pacific.

He was the first to wake, the snores of four others as distinctive as the men themselves around the room. Beside him, JC snuffled contentedly, rolling closer as the early March winds whipped through the chinks in the cabin wall.

Every morning, Chris woke up with JC’s body pressed against his, with the normal reaction between his legs. He would wait until he could stand it no longer before climbing from the warm cocoon of blankets and racing to the outhouse to take care of it. They all took their time for personal relief at some point during the day. There wasn’t a lot else to do, and with the exception of young Justin, who had no shame in rubbing himself quietly in bed with his back to the room.

JC blinked at him and smiled weakly, eyes peering up at Chris. Though taller, JC always crimped down on the mattress at night, until he could rest his head on Chris’s shoulder. His legs were bent and tangled with Chris’, and when he moved, Chris felt JC’s erection pressing at his hip.

“Sorry,” JC whispered, a look of shame sweeping over his face. He made as if to move away, but Chris reached blindly, grabbing at JC’s hip. He held him as tightly as a drowning man would grasp a life preserver.

“We shouldn’t,” JC said quietly, eyes straining back over his shoulder to the rest of the cabin. The other three men slept soundlessly, not even moving.

If he let himself speak, Chris would have agreed. But he forced his lips shut, and tugged on JC’s hips again, watching JC’s eyelids flutter at the contact. Chris raised his hips, just a little, finding the pressure of JC’s strong thigh against his legs delirious. His mind spun, his body taking control of itself.

JC’s mouth pressed against his instinctively, and Chris opened, letting JC’s tongue wet his cracked lips, parting them quickly to kiss more deeply. This was familiar, and a wave of comfort washed over Chris as his mouth was manipulated by JC’s clever tongue.

This was a boundary they had never crossed, one Chris hadn’t even thought of much. Across the room, Lance stirred, and Chris tried to hurry, letting JC’s leg wrap tightly around his, a vice grip that kept their middles close together. They were fully clothed, but despite being hidden, Chris felt more connected to JC in this moment that he had felt to any women he’d bedded.

JC’s hands were on his shoulders, Chris’ hands on JC’s hips, holding them together as they moved. The straw of the mattress rustled beneath them, the blankets siding off of JC’s shoulder as he arched back gracefully and came with a shudder and a groan. Chris watched him as he watched the animals on the prairie, a mixture of curiosity and awe, all above a deep desire to know more, to learn more.

JC came back to him with a smile, hands drifting between their bodies to press sharply on Chris’s groin, to knead as a woman making bread until Chris too trembled with release, his panting breaths caught by JC’s gentle kisses.

They lay, foreheads pressed together, the sun slowly rising outside. There were birds singing, the new kinds that whipped and clucked in a clever rhythm. A mating call, Chris thought. How appropriate.

Rolling away, Chris noticed Lance’s eyes were upon him as he rose and reached for his moccasins. JC’s hands trailed along his as he left the bed.

His body was shaky, so long denied such pleasures, but his legs managed to make the steps to the outhouse without excessive difficulty. His mind was racing with the implications of what they had just done. As long as it was only kisses, he could pretend that his need for JC was nothing more than a desire for comfort in the wild. This. This was more, and though his lips moved as if to deny it, his heart could not.

He used a rag to wipe himself clean, mopping his clothes as best he could. They would be stiff for the remainder of the day, he knew. He dipped the rag in a bucket of water by the wood pile, breaking the thin ice on the top with his knuckles. Soon, there would be no ice in the morning, and they would once again be on their way.

Lance came out behind him, pulling on his jacket as he stumbled into the woods to relieve himself. Back in the cabin, everyone stirred. With a log under each arm and one in each hand, Chris set about stoking the fire.

JC trailed a hand along his neck as he began to dress, and Justin immediately started to tell them the story of a dream. Chris took a moment to look around the room at the men who had become his family, the one who was now his lover.

He wasn’t sure what the rest of the journey would bring them, but one thing was certain. Chris had found something precious in the wilderness, something that would take considerable sacrifice to give up when the journey was over.

Part Seven: New Discoveries  
Music: Dawson's Creek Original Score, "How Did We Get Here?"

It was sunny when they left camp on an early March morning, having nothing but fond memories of the tiny cabin in the foothills and the Indians who helped them through the winter.

“Maybe we’ll stop here on the way back,” JC said hopefully. It was somewhat comforting to have something familiar in the wilderness.

Chris was anxious to be on the move again. He’d been in one place for too long, though the pains to roam were not as strong as usual. JC had a lot to do with that, and he smiled at the man sitting next to him.

“Do you think you’ll be able to communicate with the Ute?” he asked. All winter, JC had been practicing with interpreters from the local tribes. They were told that the Paiute would be able to guide them to the coast once they reached those lands. First, though, they needed to find the Colorado River.

JC nodded thoughtfully and steered his horse upward on the trail. “We need a song to lead us on. Justin!”

From the back of the line, Justin answered, “Yes?”

“Sing!” JC threw up his arm with the command, and from the tail came a melody they could all enjoy. On the trail again, Chris thought, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

There was closeness between the five after winter that had not existed before. Now, there was rarely a quiet moment on the journey, for there was always someone or something to talk to.

Most of all, Chris thought, there was JC, who had the most appealing smile and shared it generously as they moved through the mountains. The weather grew colder as they ascended, the horses often losing their footing. Thankfully, they were had plenty of food, as Chris remembered the frigid Bitterroot Crossing of 1805. They’d packed heavy and been blessed by an abundance of pheasant and small animals to supplement their provisions.

Most of all, they reached the Colorado River much earlier than expected, having spent more than half of a day pouring over maps to ensure that this was, in fact, the proper river. Knowing that they had crossed the Continental Divide was cause for much celebration among the small party, and Chris dolled out a dram of whiskey to each of the men for the occasion.

JC draped himself across Chris’ lap as the fire burned low and kissed his scruffy cheek. “We made it,” he whispered, nipping on the silver pierced through Chris’ ear. Chris shuddered as warm waves washed down to his cock. He steadied his hands on JC’s slender leather-clad hips.

“We’ve got a long way left to go.” Always the pragmatist, Chris couldn’t allow himself to get ahead of the current situation. Still, he knew they’d reached the peak of their journey and, hopefully, things would be easier in the future.

JC licked at Chris’ jawbone, hands tilting Chris’ head just so, and Chris’ mind completely left his body. It was brazen to do this in the open, where the others may awaken and see, but he did not care. His hands slipped up, pushing at fabric until the broadcloth shirt until he could feel the warm soft skin of JC’s back. JC squirmed in his lap, driving Chris wild.

“Let’s go into the darkness,” Chris begged. In answer, JC kissed him thoroughly, rough lips sliding wetly across Chris’ mouth until he parted and met them with an eager tongue. JC was a most improper kisser, like the Indian women Chris bedded on occasion. Quick and sloppy and entirely enticing. When he nipped at Chris’ lips with his teeth, Chris lost all caring for their openness.

Sliding down from the log he’d used as a stool, still keeping JC in his lap, Chris landed on the hard packed dirt as gently as a feather, without even a jostle that would break their kiss. With his lips never losing touch of JC’s, Chris rolled him slowly down to the ground, stretching out on top of JC’s lithe, warm body.

“Your hands,” JC begged, bringing their entwined fingers between their bodies. “I love when you touch me.” Chris was only happy to oblige, leaning back so that he could watch his fingers roam over the pale plain of JC’s chest, ruffling the dark hairs that poked up in all directions. JC’s eyelids fluttered and he moaned softly when Chris pinched one suede-colored nipple, pulling roughly until it was as peaked and hard as the mountains they climbed. He repeated the treatment on the other until JC bucked up to him, presenting his mouth for a kiss.

He’s beautiful, Chris thought. He knew he was lucky to have this, sublimely lucky to have found such a giving man. Perhaps this was what he had been waiting for, why he had not succumbed to the pressure of society and taken a wife. He thought of the women who’d shared his bed on occasion through the past years, and none of them affected him the way JC did. A single glance from JC could arouse him more than a legion of naked ladies.

When JC pushed Chris’ hands lower, he didn’t resist. His fingers tripped over the rippled muscles on JC’s stomach to brush against the leather ties of his pants. He lingered there, eyes on JC, hands playing with the laces.

“Are you sure?” he asked, because this was a line that they had not crossed. Using the body beside you for relief was entirely different that seeking out another man for pleasures of the flesh. Chris knew that he would never be welcome in heaven, so he did not worry about his own immortal soul. But he didn’t want to ruin JC’s chances.

JC kissed him quickly, squishing Chris’ lips back against his teeth. “Please,” he begged, voice keening with lust. Chris did not give him the opportunity to take it back. With deft fingers, the laces fell apart, and JC’s gleaming cock poked free. It was the color of raspberries and slick with liquid that seemed from the tip. When Chris touched the slit, the way he always liked, JC shuddered.

“You must be quiet,” Chris said, taking the shaft between his fist and squeezing slowly. JC threw an arm back over his head and bit down on his lip. Chris twisted, experimentally, trying to find a rhythm that would be pleasing. His entire mind was focused on bringing JC pleasure, now.

Chris leaned down to kiss JC again, mouth craving the delicious taste that was uniquely JC, clean and vaguely like the plums that grew along the Arkansas River. One hand anchored in JC’s long hair, holding loosely as they kissed with open mouths and exploring tongues. His other hand worked faster, pulling upward on JC’s cock at a furious pace. The only noise between them was the slap of skin as Chris’ hand moved. When JC’s head rolled back, breaking the kiss, Chris caught his breath, then followed, once again searching for those pliant lips.

“Soon,” JC panted, the words absorbed into Chris’ mouth, though he needn’t have warned. Chris could tell by the tensing of muscles. JC’s shirt was rucked up to his neck, and his entire chest clenched as Chris doubled his efforts and speed. Thick streams of liquid streamed into his hand as JC came, panting for air as his body spasmed. Chris squeezed harder and kept stroking until JC fell back to the ground.

Wiping his hand on the rag they used to pull the skillet from the fire, Chris pressed close to JC’s body and kissed JC’s shoulder where the neckline of his shirt had fallen away.

JC crawled into his lap once again, hands roaming to between Chris’ legs. He kissed lazily, shirt falling back into place to Chris’ disappointment. Then JC’s hands were sliding down into his pants, the ring on his finger catching in the dark patch of hair at Chris’ groin with a fierce prick that may have caused Chris to cry out, had JC’s hand not closed over his erection with determined vigor.

Beyond the fire, someone stirred, but Chris didn’t notice it at all.

In the morning Justin found Chris readying the canoes. He shuffled his feet in the stony riverbed before speaking.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Didn’t you just?” Chris coiled a rope in his hands and smiled. “What’s troubling you?”

“I saw you.” Justin was brave enough to look Chris in the face as he spoke. “By the fire, last night. With JC.”

Chris looked away. “Be careful,” he warned. He did not think Justin capable of malice, but also knew that Justin had not lived long enough on the trail to understand the rules that governed the wild country were based on survival, not faith.

“No, I don’t mean to offend. I just. I’m curious.” He flamed with blush from his cheeks to his ears.

“Look,” Chris said, sitting down on the edge of the canoe, rope dangling loosely to the ground. “It’s a private thing. And you wouldn’t understand anyway.”

Justin stepped closer, holding out his hands, pleading. “I will. Please, Chris just tell me. What is it like? I’ve never. Done that. With anyone.” It burned him to tell Chris this, a fact he’d lauded with pride months before leaving. His best friend had bedded several girls and the poor reputation he’d gained soiled his chances for a good marriage. Justin was pure. It used to be a good thing.

Chris looked at him with pity, but still did not tell Justin what he wanted to know. Frustrated, Justin kicked at a rock until his toe throbbed. “So you won’t tell me anything?”

“Sorry, no.”

Frustrated, Justin took off for the hills, jumping up the boulders to the shoulder of the cliff with limber grace. Chris called after him, but Justin didn’t stop.

“Fuck.” They had to set off in an hour, and couldn’t afford the delay. It looked like rain.

The others arrived moments later, to find Chris still playing with the rope. “What’s going on?” Joey asked.

“Justin took off,” Chris said waving at the cliff. “He was pretty upset.”

“What happened?” Joey narrowed his eyes, protectively. Any other time Chris would have appreciated his loyalty to a friend, but right now, his head was throbbing and disagreement wouldn’t help.

“He was asking me for information I wasn’t ready to give,” Chris answered lamely. JC’s eyes widened knowingly.

Lance set down his pack in one of the canoes. “I’ll go talk to him. Why don’t you set off, and I’ll go find him. We’ll meet you at camp downriver.”

They agreed, and Lance climbed up the hills, using his hands to keep his balance. The rock was a sandy taupe color, crumbling away with every misstep. It was treacherous, and he was greatly relieved to reach the top and place his feet on firm horizontal land.

Lance saw Justin’s back retreating in the distance and called to him. “Justin, wait!” But Justin kept moving, storming angrily along the lip of the canyon. With a sigh, Lance followed.

They walked for a long time, until the sun was high in the sky. Every so often, Justin would glance over his shoulder and pick up the pace. Lance knew he didn’t want to be followed. Too bad. They’d both learned the first day that the most important rule to survival was to never wander off alone.

“Go away!” Justin called back. Lance hated the harsh desperation in Justin’s voice as it carried on the wind. “Just leave me alone, Lance.”

“Justin, stop,” Lance pleaded again. It broke his heart to see Justin so angry. “Please, just rest for a moment.”

But Justin didn’t stop. When he came to a tree that blocked his path, he grabbed onto the trunk and began to swing around.

Lance watched, horrified, words of caution stuck in his throat as the ground crumbled down into the canyon. Helpless, Justin cried out helplessly and tightened his grip on the branch, clinging to dear life.

With speed he did not know he possessed, Lance raced to the tree and grabbed Justin’s wrists. Justin’s knuckles were white with strain, his face stretched wide with fear. Justin’s feet scrambled against the cliff wall, seeking purchase, succeeding only in sending a smattering of stones to the river below. The sound of them clattering along the face of the cliff was positively frightening.

“Hang on, Justin,” Lance urged, nearly hysterical with fear. He tightened his grip. “Grab my wrists and I’ll pull you up.” Justin’s eyes were wide in fear and he silently begged Lance not to let go. In a moment, Lance saw the raw emotion in Justin’s eyes and knew he never would. He would go over the cliff as well before he would let Justin fall. “Trust me,” Lance said, strangely calm. “You have to trust me.”

The slap of skin into his hand was hard and fast, and Lance clung tightly as his arms strained with Justin’s weight. Slowly, he backed up, pulling Justin forward until he collapsed on his belly onto the cliff’s edge. Lance let go of his hands and grabbed Justin under the arms and pulled. Hard. Justin slid across the rock until no part of his body dangled over the edge.

Breathing hard, Lance collapsed on his behind, legs spread in front of him. His shoulders throbbed painfully. His wrists ached. But Justin was safe. “Are you all right?”

Justin pushed up to a sitting position and began flexing his fingers to relax the muscles. He looked at Lance strangely, as if amazed to be alive. Without speaking, he launched himself into Lance’s arms.

Lance clung as Justin wrapped him in a fierce hug, so tight it stole the breath from his body. Justin was alive, he thought. It was all he could focus on. His body stirred with the relief, and the excitement of having Justin’s body pressed so closely to his. Between his legs, Lance’s manhood stirred. Whispering soothing nothingness into Justin’s ear, Lance tentatively touched the back of Justin’s head, stroking his knotted curls.

When Justin did relax his grip to pull back, Lance allowed their foreheads to touch. How strange they were both still gasping for air, he thought. Justin was on his knees between Lance’s splayed thighs. If he had looked down, Justin would have seen Lance’s erection straining against his leather pants. But Justin did not open his eyes.

Instead, he lifted one hand to Lance’s cheek, wet with the wounds inflicted by the tree. He stroked carefully, and Lance’s breath caught in his through, tingles running down his skin at Justin’s touch. Justin’s face slanted downward and his lips pressed to Lance’s mouth so urgently. Lance didn’t realize for several moments what was occurring. When his mind finally did return, it was immediately shut down again by his heart. Lance opened his lips and kissed Justin wantonly, mouths moving together in a perfect harmony.

Justin slid even closer, hands falling to Lance’s shoulder in a tight grip, a vice restraining Lance in the kiss. Lance did not object, only rubbed his groin against Justin’s knees. It had been so long, he thought, his body was celebrating like a farmer getting rain after a drought.

The thoughts of the last time he’d been close to someone like this had Lance sliding back, pulling away. His hands pressed against Justin’s chest, fingers twining in the fringe of Justin’s jacket. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, knowing he should let go but not quite able to.

Justin’s face was flushed, his lips swollen and red like ripe cherries. Lance longed to taste them again, the forbidden fruit.

“The moment,” Justin said with half a smile, not so subtlely adjusting himself. “Perhaps I should fall off of cliffs more often.”

Lance couldn’t quite figure out what was occurring. Justin seemed to be saying. Did he want this too? In utter shock, Lance started into Justin’s impish blue eyes and felt his lips spread in a smile.

They started down the river just before noon, after taking their time walking back to the canoe and carefully climbing down the face of the cliff to the river below. Lance knelt in the back, having a hard time concentrating with Justin perched on his knees in front of him, oar gripped tightly in his hands.

He did not know what to think of the kiss they had shared. Justin had seemed almost eager about it, not at all repulsed. Lance knew that there were few in the world who felt about other men they way he did. If Chris and JC were like him, the chances of Justin also taking pleasure in other men were exceedingly slight.

They were delayed by rain, forced to drag the canoe up the side of the canyon as water poured from the sky. The river rose rapidly, and fearing a flood, Justin and Lance sought shelter above the gorge, in an outcropping of reddish brown rocks polished smooth by the winds of time.

Justin immediately pressed his body close to Lance’s, though there was plenty of room for them both under the overhang. When he tried to kiss Lance again, Lance found himself pressing a hand to Justin’s chest. “Justin. It’s not right.” He remembered his mother telling him the same thing with a hurt look in her eyes after the last time he’d been with Nicholas.

“The things that make us feel good rarely are.” Justin licked his lips, tongue pink and inviting. “Chris and JC kiss. They say that you can’t live your life by what others say are right and wrong.”

“You’re talking about a world without morals, Justin.” Lance’s words were meant to cease Justin’s advances, but his fingers were curling into the cloth of Justin’s shirt as he spoke.

“Or a world with different ones. Like the Indians.” Again, he tried to kiss Lance, and this time, Lance parted his lips and allowed the kiss. Oh, he was so easily swayed, he thought, using his tongue to part Justin’s lips. Justin made a surprised little noise in the back of his throat but allowed Lance the pleasure, soon meeting Lance’s tongue with his own.

“You’ve done this before,” Justin breathed with they parted, the words warm and moist as they crossed Lance’s cheek. Lance felt a blush rise there. “You have!” Justin insisted, drawing back with an amused grin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It is nothing to be proud of,” Lance mumbled, wishing he had better self-control. “Justin, this. It is not something that will ever be accepted by people. Your parents.” At the thought of it, his eyes dropped to the dirt.

“Your. Oh.” Justin’s hands were on his shoulders, rubbing in soothing circles. “I’m sorry, Lance.”

Lance looked at him again, the little wrinkle between Justin’s bushy brown eyebrows. “I just want you to know what you are doing. The risk.”

“I know,” Justin promised. “I may be young, but I know. So please. If you don’t want to kiss me because you do not care, I understand. But if you are afraid.” He took Lance’s hand and pressed it to his heart. “You are so brave, Lance. You’re here, in the middle of the wild, with me, who can barely tell north from south.” Lance smiled a little at that and looked down again. “You’re so brave. Be brave about this.”

When Justin’s lips touched his again, Lance knew there would no longer be any reason to resist.

They found the rest of their small group the following evening, just as they were making camp.

“Oh, thank God,” Joey said, pulling Lance out of the canoe and into a friendly hug. “We were going to turn back for you tomorrow if you hadn’t arrived.”

“We were delayed by the rain,” he explained, nose squished into Joey’s chest. His shirt was damp with spray from the river. It felt good to be missed, Lance thought, and hugged back tightly.

JC had caught a beaver, which fed them sufficiently for the night, along with some cornmeal biscuits they’d carried from the last village. The biscuits were hard as rocks, but washed down well enough with large swallows of water. Lance wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done, glad to have a full belly again. Beside him, Justin was mopping the last bits of grease from his plate with his biscuit.

They let the fire burn down to embers and curled under their blankets. JC and Chris lay closely together, as had become the custom. Lance knew they would kiss with the blankets pulled over their heads as soon as they though the others were sleeping. Joey smiled at Lance as he lay beside him. Lance hoped Justin would join them, but he did not, choosing instead to sleep at the foot of the cavern walls.

Lance slept fitfully, cold shockingly strong after a night in Justin’s arms. The ground was rocky, making it difficult to find a comfortable position. He could hear the snores of Joey nearby, and the lone howl of a coyote in the distance.

A shadow fell across his face, and Lance’s heart leapt into his throat. Immediate, he reached for his knife, but Justin’s soft “ssssh” made him relax. Justin cuddled up against his side, draping the extra blanket over their bodies. Immediately, Lance felt warm.

“Do you mind?” Justin whispered, licking his lips nervously.

“No.”

“Good.” Justin’s arm crept across Lance’s chest, and together they fell asleep.

In the morning, Joey rolled his eyes immediately upon awaking. “Not you too,” he moaned, seeing Lance unwrapping himself from Justin’s sleeping embrace. Lance’s cheeks tinged with pink.

“I never thought that you would be one of them,” Joey said. “I just. I can’t believe they got to you.”

“They didn’t,” Lance promised, taking off his boots to flex his toes. “I’ve been like this for a long time, Joey. As long as you’ve known me.”

Joey studied Lance, the way he didn’t quite look him in the eye, the way he looked so nervously, suddenly, like in the first days on the trail when he always seemed to think that someone was going to hit him. “That’s why you came here,” he said, the light dawning. “Why you didn’t stay to follow your father into politics.”

“At best,” Lance said bitterly, “I would be able to live somewhat happily away from the judgments of the church. At worst, I would perish in the West. Either way, my parents would be free from the scrutiny and I would be spared the stoning.”

Joey didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he stuffed them into his pockets. “I just. I don’t really know what to say right now, so I’m just going to think for a while. Is that OK?” It hurt him, a lot, that Lance wasn’t the man he’d thought. He was the only one then, who still held to the values of his childhood and church, the only one who hadn’t succumb to these new rules of life in the West.

“Sure,” Lance said casually. He stood and dusted off the seat of his britches. “You can still talk to me, you know?”

“Yeah.” Joey would have liked to have said more, to ask how the son of a Congressmen could turn his back on God in such a casual manner. But his own manners taught him to respect the privacy of others, so he simply left to gather more wood for the fire.

Part Eight: The Desert  
Music: In Viola’s Room, Music from the Motion Picture Shakespeare in Love

Life on the river was wet, a constant soaking through their clothes, so that the damp made their skin shrivel like grapes left in the sun. The water moved them quickly along, so fast that Lance scarcely had time to take the necessary notes for maps on this part of the upper Colorado. The lower portions, with their deep gorges and canyons were well marked by the Spanish.

Two days previous, Chris had seen the smoke of a Spanish army battalion in the distance. Their fires were spread across a long column of land, unlike the natives who opted for clusters of fire throughout the villages.

They’d moved quickly down river, not dwelling in this dangerous land.

Beyond them was a dry, flat land, occasional scattered with low brush and scraggly-looking trees. They were out of the mountains, now, though the size of the rocks in this land often seemed as gargantuan as the giant peaks of the Rockies. There were few natives to converse with, which threatened their food supply to drastically low measures. There was no game to hunt.

Without other options, JC packed a small bag with medals and the remainder of their biscuits and set off in the direction of the Paiute, hoping to find them. Chris was desperately torn, not wanting to leave his crew but fearful to let JC go alone.

“We’ll be fine,” Lance promised. “We have fish from the river, and it will give Justin and I time to compile our notes. And Joey can protect us better than you.”

Chris laughed, and nodded. It seemed that the divisions were drawn within their group, no matter how close they all might have been. With Lance’s comforting words echoing in his heart, Chris chased JC into the desert, finding him on their first night by the light of his fire.

JC startled when Chris walked out of the darkness, dropping his pack by the fire. He went into JC’s arms with an open heart, searching for kisses like a hungry man searched for food.

“What are you doing here?” JC asked between kisses, mouth wet and glowing by the fire. His hair was loose around his face, hat fallen to the ground beyond. Chris touched the curling locks, tucking them behind his ear. JC’s face was the most appealing Chris had ever seen. His eyes were the silvery blue of the river at twilight.

“I did not wish for you to be alone,” Chris said, though JC looked upon him with an amused expression until he felt color creeping into his ears. “Or perhaps I did not want to be without you.”

JC laughed lightly, poking the fire with a pointed stick. Sparks danced in the night air. “I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “I’ve never felt lonely at night before. Usually it is my time for dreaming. You’ve ruined me. I’ll never be able to dream again.”

Chris was struck with the shame of that, and the monstrosity of the statement. That he and JC had changed each other in ways that would go one beyond their return to St. Louis. “Don’t say that. Who are we without dreams?” Indeed, where would his life had been if he had not dreamt of the freedom of the west so many years ago.

JC smiled shyly at him and dropped his sticks, using his hands to carefully lift the canteen from Chris’ shoulder, sliding the straps from his neck and rubbing the sore red marks they left with cool callused fingers. Chris shivered and obliged when JC lifted the hem of his shirt, raising his arms so that his leather jacket would slid freely from his back, his shirt slip effortless up and over his head.

The desert land was cool at night, but Chris did not feel the biting whip of the air when JC’s hands were upon him. They charted his chest like a surveyor did new land, taking note of each pockmark and scar with studious appreciation. It did not take much urging for him to disrobe as well, and Chris’s hands did the same to JC’s flesh, tracing each line and swell of muscle as if it were the most precious treasure. Chris knew that someday soon he would find time to strip JC bare in the daylight so that he could more thoroughly appreciate his beautiful body.

They fell to the ground, cushioned by a bearskin and the softness of desert sand. There were ways for men to be together, Chris knew, but they were best left for days when there was a bath available. Trail life was dirty and dusty and meant that as much as Chris wanted to lick over every inch of JC’s body, he resisted. Instead, he used his hands to massage JC’s golden skin.

“You are beautiful,” Chris said as he touched JC. JC rolled his head back.

“I’m a half breed.” He let Chris kiss his ear, pulling Chris’s hair off of his neck.

“Beautiful,” Chris insisted. He reached between them to where JC’s long cock pressed at his belly. It felt familiar in his palm.

JC moaned in his ear and pulled at Chris’s hips until they were pressed tightly together. Chris rubbed against JC, lightning shooting through his body with each thrust. JC’s fingers were tight across his ass, holding on as though Chris were a wild stallion. Chris tried to find his mouth, but JC writhed so uncontrollably that Chris had to settle for kissing an ear, or the curve of his cheek.

JC came with a shout, announcing to the world when he climaxed, yet only Chris could hear. He kissed him then, not to silence but to take JC’s joy into his own body. Chris felt his toes tightening and his own body shuddered with release, pushing down onto JC’s chest.

They used water from their canteen to wipe away the stickiness, then dressed again least they be discovered as they slept. With the fire burning down to coals, JC wrapped an arm around Chris from behind and spooned against him.

“We’ll find the tribe tomorrow,” he promised, and Chris believed him.

At the river, the days were quiet. Lance had confessed to Justin that Joseph seemed unhappy with their developing relationship, and Justin had taken that as a sign to restrain himself from any visible sign of affection. In the daylight he was off studying the flora and fauna of the region. By starlight, he kept to the edges of the firelight. Lance recognized what he was doing, and appreciated it dearly. But he yearned to touch Justin again, to kiss at his face.

Joey, on the other hand, seemed determined to prove that nothing was wrong. He told boisterous jokes and went out of his way to help whenever a hand was needed.

Everything seemed fine. But Lance was miserable. And he suspected the others were two.

When JC and Chris had been gone for five days, Joey announced he was going off on a hunt.

“I’ll go with you,” Lance said, getting up from where he sat by the river, mending ropes.

“No,” Joey said. “It’s fine. I’m just going to, I don’t know. Walk around for a while.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Lance waved as Joey left, and hoped for the best.

As soon as he was out of sight, Justin tackled Lance from the side, sending them rocking over the stony ground. He plastered kisses on Lance’s face and neck, eager and sloppy and completely compelling. Lance smiled despite himself, worry for Joey gone from his head with Justin eager in his lap.

They stripped to the skin and bathed in the river together, washing each other’s bodies with playful splashes and chases. The water was cool so they did not stay long, drying their skin with a blanket and dressing again, though leaving ties and laces loose to aide curious wandering hands.

In the shadows of a high cliff they kissed, tenderly and carefully, Lance’s soul once again healed now that Justin was with him again. The day passed too quickly, in Lance’s thought, and though they did not move from the shady rocks until the sun glowed orange as it fell from the sky.

Lance wanted so badly to move forward, to fix the pain in his groin where he was so strongly aroused. He’d never been so severely affected in that way before, not even with the young blonde heir to the plantation next door, whom he’d kissed first in the barn and given up so much to earn affection. Often, Lance’s hands would dip south of Justin’s waist, only to be frustratingly pulled back upward and fastened onto his shoulders. Justin would smile into Lance’s mouth each time, knowing he was a tease but unwilling to take that last step this time.

When it grew too dark to see more than a few feet in the distance, they went back to camp and fumbled by candlelight to revive the fire. They cooked fish for dinner, caught in a net draped through the river throughout the day.

“I wonder where Joey is,” Justin said, rubbing his hands together briskly to ward off the night’s chill. Lance looked into the distance, worried. He knew that Joey’s mind was not at all right these days, and it pained him greatly that Joey was wandering the dark desert alone.

He had not returned by the time they went to sleep, sharing a blanket for the first time in several days. They kissed in the darkness, but were weary from a day of playfulness and drifted asleep before it progressed into anything greater.

Lance was roused from sleep by some unknown force, but he sensed wrongness in the world and opened his eyes sometime during the night. Joey stood in the distance, looking more defeated than Lance had ever seen him. In the low glow of the burning-out fire, his face was wet with tears. Immediately, Lance sat, drawing blanket off of Justin’s shoulder until he woke as well. Curiously they both stared at their friend, whose shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“I’m sorry.” Joey’s voice was rugged, like a man who’d breathed in dust that clogged his throat. “I’m so sorry. I understand now. I understand because I’m so lonely.” He fell to his knees, Lance and Justin instantly going to him, the two younger men suddenly confronting with consoling the great army captain. “It’s so hard, without anyone, and I’m so sorry that I made you feel. That I said those things, because you’re so lucky.” Words failed, and Lance wrapped an arm around Joey’s shoulders. At his other side, Justin patted his knees in comfort.

“It’s OK, Joey. It’s fine. You’re not alone.” Lance tipped his head against Joey’s, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at Joey’s tears.

“I just. I thought I’d go out for a walk, and I realized that I was the only one there. The only one within sight, within earshot, and I couldn’t. It was just so much. And it just hit me that I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re not alone.” Justin looked up to Lance for guidance, but Lance could offer no way to tell Joey exactly how much he was loved and needed here.

They guided Joey down between them, all three sleeping under the same shared blankets, touching so that Joey would come to realize that he wasn’t by himself here, that there were others to support him and love him even in the loneliest place in the world.

JC and Chris returned the next day with three Indians from the Paiute tribe, who promised that their main pueblo was only one days’ walk. Reluctantly abandoning their canoes in a cave by the river, they followed the three men up the walls of the canyon and into the desert.

“How can anyone live in this land?” Lance asked, kicking at the dry dirt. Even in the spring, when heavy rains fell upon most of the earth, this land was as dry as any summer drought. The only vegetation was scrubby bushes that looked to be more bramble than leafy. There was no food, no water- it was miserable.

The natives replied in their secret language, telling secrets about the land that no white man could understand.

Their guides traveled until they left the river, staring into the bleak desert before them. Somewhere to the west lay the ocean.

“We travel at night,” Chris said, and the others agreed. It would be cooler. They’d reached the peak of spring, and the heat of the day was simply blistering. They spent a day sewing tents to shade them as they napped during the hottest hours, beginning their travel as the sun dipped below the far-off mountains.

It took five days to cross the sand, five miserable days where none of them wanted to touch one another in the brutal heat. All were grumpy by the time they reached the base of the mountains.

“I’m going to look for help,” JC said, hitching up his pack. When Chris moved to join him, JC sent a pointed glare in his direction. “Alone.”

It went against their cardinal rules, but Chris just shrugged and settled back against the cool, shady rock face at the base of a cliff. Justin watched them with wide eyes.

“Why did you let him go?” he asked. Chris shrugged again.

“Everyone needs time apart,” he said. Justin looked surprised, then looked at Lance with love in his eyes. Chris knew that he could not imagine not wanting to be around Lance. He was young, yet.

JC was gone for half a day, but retuned with two Indians and several melons. They ate like starving men, offering only whiskey in return. The Indian men took it happily. It was not a good sign.

“Their chief would like to meet with us,” JC said, and Chris nodded. They were deep into Spanish lands, and if they did not deal well with the Indian chief, he could alert the Spanish government to their presence. Good relations were of the utmost importance.

Quickly, they broke camp and followed JC up over the mountains. There was more desert ahead of them, and they would need all of the help that they could find.

Part Nine: Pacific  
Music: Main Title, Music from the Motion Picture Troy

Lance was the one who saw it first. The spyglass he’d carried so carefully all the way from the Atlantic Coast glimmered with all of their dreams come true as he held it to his eye and called “Ocean in View!” From behind him, cheers went up and the hill nearly shook beneath his feet as the rest of the party scurried to the top of the hill to see that which they had so long yearned to find.

“It’s magnificent,” Justin breathed, arm resting heavily on Lance’s shoulder, breath heavy from the rapid ascent. Lance could not stop smiling as his eyes swept from south to north. The Pacific glowed under the late afternoon sun, an unending expanse of golden sun bouncing off of the softly rolling waves. Foam crashed up on white and tan beaches, brushed on their edges by boulders and prairie-like grasses.

With a whoop, Joey ran first, nearly tumbling down the far side of the mountain. It was still a half-day’s walk to the coast, to be sure, but all were determined to make it by nightfall. With a grin, Chris clapped JC on the back and took pursuit, grabbing onto their guide’s hand and leading her down the hill gently, since Joey’s mind was addled by the sight of the ocean. JC followed them, lugging Joey’s abandoned pack on top of his own.

“I can’t believe that we’ve made it,” Justin sighed. He ducked his head down onto Lance’s shoulder, to rest upon his own arm. “I truly thought we’d end up in a Mexican prison before we saw the ocean.”

Lance laughed lightly at the thought, now seeming ridiculous but so real to them only days ago. “You must have faith,” he said. He carefully tucked the spyglass back into his bag.

“We seem to have reinvented the concept of faith during this journey.” Lifting his head, Justin squinted into the afternoon sun. “Do you think we’ll make it to the waters by the time the moon rises?”

Lance felt the grin on his face widen even more, if that was at all possible. “Faith,” he called, and began the run down the hill.

It was dark when Joey’s feet first splashed in the waters of the Pacific, but the waves were still warm as they washed over the top of his boots and surrounded his toes with salty water. He fell to his knees, letting the surf wash over him completely.

No one in his family had ever accomplished so great a task as crossing an unknown continent. His parents may have felt a fragment of this excitement when they reached the harbor of New York after leaving home, but that was a journey they’d completed with hundreds of others. This accomplishment, Joey thought, would mark his names in the journals of history forever.

He stood, letting the water run off of him like rain, back down onto the sand where it once again became a part of the mighty Pacific. Turning, he watched in the darkness as the shadows of his friends slowly made their way across the vast coastal plain to the beach.

“What took you so long?” Joey cried, kicking up a spray of foam in their direction.

“Carrying your things so that you did not have to sleep without blanket,” JC grumbled, dropping both heavy packs to the sand. His back cracked when he stood and stretched. “Good God, you must be carrying rocks in there.”

“No, Lance is the only one mad enough to carry around rocks in his bags.” Joey pulled the young squaw to his side and kissed the top of her head. She smiled up at him brightly, not seeming to mind that her feet were soaking up the ocean’s waters.

“They’re geological samples,” Lance complained, but no one was listening. Together, they had fallen silent, watching the stars and the moon glitter over the wide and deep ocean.

“You know, China is over there, somewhere,” Joey said. “Can you believe there is nothing between us and China?”

“There’s nothing between us and anything,” JC marveled. “We’re on the edge of the world.”

They made a winter camp in the valley of the hills just beyond the ocean, nestled from the worst of the winds by the sloping mounts. It was a mild winter, in any event, nothing at all like the heavy snows they’d enduring the previous year. Here, the worst of the weather came in driving rain, though never lasting more than a few days at a time, and always giving way to a bright and shining sun, even if it did not grace them with warmth when it glowed.

“I think I like this country,” Justin declared, out sketching some of the flora one afternoon. He sat on the hillside with his leather-bound book on his lap, the pages nearly full with all of the new creatures and plants he had identified. This land was full of life, Lance thought. It was a true paradise, a heaven on earth.

The local native tribes were friendly to them, accustomed to white traders who came by boat or from the south. They were fascinated by the travelers’ stories of the east, and conversed easily with Joey in Spanish. Joey’s squaw was able to speak to few of them in her native language, as well, and learned that the evil trader who had kept her captive had been driven from the tribe for shady dealings, sent to die in the desert under a cloak of betrayal.

Joey’s face clouded when he heard the news, but he did not speak.

At night, when the visitors had left or any of their party returned home from a day’s adventure, they closed tight the door and loved each other, as only the privacy of abject wilderness would allow.

Lance loved the Pacific and all her moods. He’d watch as the waters changed colors throughout the day, from the glow of the morning sun in the east making the waters green from below to the blue of midday that reminded him of Justin’s eyes, to the fiery glow of the setting sun, where it seemed to sizzled through the water to make way for night.

Often, Justin would sit with him and watch the sun set. They spent much of their time on the beach, walking in one direction or the other. Justin would take notes on the marine life found in shallow pools between the rocks while Lance noted each jut and jog of the coastline on his ever-growing map.

Lance watched Justin, feet bare as he walked across the sand and wondered how he was going to live without Justin when they returned. They’d grown too used to each other, to being able to express their love freely. Chris was right about the wild but he forgot to explain that it would break your heart when it ended.

Perhaps there would be other expeditions, Lance mused, pen paused on his paper as he thought. They could spend the rest of their lives exploring more of the west. Timberlake and Bass, like Lewis and Clark, only they’d stay together and no one would die a shady death in a Kentucky boarding house.

“What are you thinking about?” Justin asked, plopping down into the sand next to Lance. He’d rolled his pants up like knickers, and removed his stockings to reveal strong calves. Weeks ago, he’d been convinced to let the natives tattoo a band across his calf, so waves rippled in ink instead of water between fine light hairs on Justin’s left leg. Lance loved to trace them with his palm.

“You,” Lance admitted, letting Justin kiss him with smiling lips. “Me. What we’re going to do in the spring when we need to go home.”

Justin snuggled close to him, slinging an arm low around Lance’s waist to hold on tightly. This, Lance thought, is what he would miss when they returned home. The touches, the caresses, the feel of Justin’s body warm against his own.

“Let’s pretend we’re not going back,” Justin said. ‘That there’s nothing left in the world except us.”

“What if the war isn’t over?” Lance asked, picking at his fingernails. It was a nervous habit. “What if we go back and we have to fight?”

“More likely we’ll go back to English colonies again,” Justin said. He closed a hand over Lance’s, stilling the worrisome fingers. “We should enjoy what time we have here.”

Lance allowed Justin’s lips to close over his and kiss away the worries. Though the back of his mind still filled with fear, Justin climbing into his lap and pushing him back down into the sand distracted most of him from anything except the man before him.

“I love you,” Lance whispered, as Justin tugged on Lance’s pants, pulling them down. Justin smiled at him, the sun golden behind his head casting his face in shadow.

“And I you,” he promised, then bent his head to do that thing Lance had taught him in the desert, making Lance throw back his head in pleasure, hands burrowing like clams into the sand.

They subsisted on fish throughout most of the winter, along with native fruits and vegetables brought to them by the local Indians. It was the best they had eaten since they’d left the Arkansas river and the abundance of game that lived on the Great Plains.

Joey found his young squaw bent over the fire cooking early each morning, and she seldom strayed far during the day. He rubbed her back carefully, easing her away from the pot.

“You do not have to cook so much,” he said, knowing that she would not understand the words. He switched to his native Italian, for sometimes it was similar enough to Spanish that she would understand. Repeating his words, she stared at him quizzically before throwing the spoon down in the pot with disgust and babbling in her own tongue.

“No, no. I don’t. I like your cooking. It’s good. Mmmm.” He rubbed his stomach and smiled. “Good. Delicious.” She stopped yelling at him and began staring at him like he was an idiot. He groaned.

“Look. I can cook,” he said, picking up the spoon and stirring. She watched him with wide brown eyes as he kept stirring. “You go and play. Relax.”

She smiled at him, patted his shoulder, and marched away, leaving him to breakfast on his own.

He was still stirring when JC came out of the cabin.

“Do you think that she wants to go?” Joey asked. JC blinked at him, still blurry from sleep.

“Hold that thought,” he said, and wandered off to the outhouse. He returned a moment later, eyes a bit clearer. “Ok, what?”

“I sometimes think that she wants to go. That I’m no worse than the brute who kept her before.”

“Oh, Joey. You’ve never forced yourself on her. As far as I know, you haven’t even touched her that she hasn’t wanted. And you, like, give her options. You let her be, you don’t force her to work. I don’t know, man, she seems happy with you.”

“She is to have a child,” Joey said. “I believe that it is mine.” Joey said wistfully. He’d long since eaten his breakfast gruel, but still held the bowl in his hands, thinking.

JC’s face split into a smile. “That’s wonderful, Joey. I’m so happy for you.” He reached across to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

“I will not be like your father,” Joey promised, watching as JC’s eyes grew cloudy with the thought. “I cannot abandon her. I cannot take her back to my family, for they will never accept her, not after Steven. I am lost as to which path to follow.”

“Perhaps this would be a time to pray,” JC said. “You had prayers enough for the rest of us over this journey. Seek now guidance for yourself.”

JC left, wandering out into the hills in the direction of the sea. Joey knew that Chris would follow soon, and they’d spend their day roaming the hills together. Closing his eyes, he set down the bowl and folded his hands, lips already moving in the familiar prayer.

It was February when the decision needed to be made. The five men and one woman sat inside of the cabin, listening to the rain fall outside. Joey had made a set of dominoes out of stones from the beach and he and JC were playing on the hillside when Chris approached them and sat down.

“Lance’s maps are good,” he said, staring out into the water. JC stopped playing and looked up, surprised at the randomness of the statement.

“Yes, they are,” he commented, laying down another tile on the flat stone they used as a table. Joey frowned.

“I think you’ll be able to follow them back without trouble.”

JC looked up at Chris, who did nothing but stare at the ocean and scratch his knee. “Yeah, as soon as the snows melt in the mountains we should be able to get underway.”

“I’m not going.”

The game stopped. Both JC and Joey turned their attention to Chris, yet he still did not move. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon.

“Why?” Joey finally asked. JC blinked and wondered when Joey had become the calm one on their journey. At the beginning JC would have been the one to ask the simple questions, while Joey would explode. Now, all JC could think was that Chris was leaving him when they had only just found each other.

“I’ve been running back and forth from civilization my entire life. I’m tired of running.” Turning to them, JC thought perhaps there would be tears on Chris’ face, but there was nothing but absolute resolution. “I like it here. I’m going to stay.”

“You’re abandoning us,” Joey said, dropping the rest of his dominoes into the grass. “You took us all the way out here only to leave us to rot on the wrong side of the country.”

Chris didn’t answer him, and JC knew that this was a decision Chris had agonized over for a great while. It was something he himself had considered, on every journey into the wild but more so on this than any other expedition. There was something so perfect about California, about the company and this place on the Pacific. He did not fault Chris for wanting to stay. He faulted Chris for not asking him to join him.

Abruptly, JC stood. “I’m going to go check the maps, then,” and without a look back, he left the hill and raced down the mountain to the sea, where the salt of his tears would mingle with the mists blowing in from the west.

“Have you heard?” Justin came to Lance in the dark that evening, in the empty space between the cabin and the outhouse. Lance’s hands went to Justin as if controlled by magnets, anchoring them together in the deep moonless night.

“I did. I can scarcely believe that Chris will give up this fame after all he has talked about for the past months. He will change his mind once it’s time to go.”

Doubtfully, Justin shook his head. “He will not. I have a strong feeling on this. Chris is going to stay here.”

Lance brushed a long twist of curl out of Justin’s eye. The damp weather had made his poof of curls droopy. Droplets of water clung to it like tiny stars and dripped onto Lance’s fingers softly. “I must confess, I have thought of it too.”

“As have I,” Justin said. He licked his lips, hands resting on Lance’s shoulders. Their hips brushed together, knees bumping between them. Lance felt the squeeze of comfort from Justin’s hands and smiled. “We will not be together in the east,” he said. “When we go back, you will go to your home and I to mine.”

“And we will likely never see each other again,” Lance said. “We could find another expedition,” he offered as a counter measure. Better to live this hard wild life than to never be with Justin again.

“We could stay,” Justin said. “with Chris, we could stay here.”

“JC and Joey,” Lance replied automatically. He could not abandon his friends, not even for true love. “They cannot make it home alone.”

“JC will stay. I am as sure of that as I am that he and Chris will remain true to each other for the rest of their days. And Joey will not leave his child.”

“So you think that none of us will return?” Lance asked. Justin slipped one hand up to cradle his head, and Lance leaned back into the touch. When Justin’s shadowed face tipped to kiss him, he parted his lips in sweet anticipation. The kiss was as light as a feather, as delicate as lace.

“I have a feeling that we will become known as the lost expedition,” Justin whispered against his lips, then kissed him again. “I love you, James Lance.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lance automatically corrected, but his staunch face dissolved into an easy smile. “And I love you too.”

With Joey clinging close to his squaw and Justin and Lance off in the warm night, JC was alone in the cabin with Chris. They had not spoken since Chris’ announcement that morning.

“I know you are angry with me,” Chris said. He sat at the table, sharpening his knife on a stone. JC folded the blankets on their bed and stubbornly ignored Chris.

“You could stay too.”

“Oh, could I?” Angrier than JC had been in most of his life, he threw down the blankets in a huff. “So nice of you to ask me now, after your grand announcement.”

“What would you have had me do?” Chris asked. He looked tired, shoulders hunched like a defeated man. The complete confidence he’d had that morning was gone. “I will not go back to that life again. All of my life it’s like I live for a while then go back and have the life stifled out of me. I will not go back to the city where the liquor bottle is my only friend, the prospect of another expedition the only thing that keeps me from hanging myself."

“Don’t say that,” JC pleaded. More than anything, worse even than the idea of leaving Chris here, was the idea of Chris dying at his own hand, miserable and alone.

“Why not? What do you think happened to Lewis? He was like me, a man meant for the wild. He tried to suppress it, to be the good government official. It only took him three years before he went mad. I bet I would last even less than that.”

“Stop it!” JC yelled, raising his voice uncontrollably. The others could probably hear through the shoddy walls, but JC did not care. “Just stop saying those things. Are you trying to hurt me? Or have you only fooled me into believing that you know those things would break my heart?”

“Then stay with me!” Chris urged, planting his hands on the table. The chair scratched across the dirt floor with a sandy scrape has he stood. “Be with me here, where we never have to worry about the church or the damned gossips and their moral codes.”

“Fine!” JC yelled back, voice still loud enough that the words scratched his throat. “But you should have asked me first, before announcing this to everyone and making me think that you wanted to be rid of me.”

Chris paused a moment before nodding. “That is fair enough a statement.” His eyes softened and he stepped forward, away from the table calmly. “I thought you were wanting this, anyway. That you just didn't want to be the one to say it first. So I did. And you seemed upset, so I thought maybe I was wrong and you wanted to go back. But by then I'd convinced myself to stay.”

“Oh?” JC stepped away, staying just a breath’s distance out of Chris’ grasp. “And what if I were to decide to leave?”

Chris grinned and stepped forward again, more aggressively, but JC still avoided him. “There’s got to be some rope around here someplace.”

JC raised an eyebrow with surprise. “I had no idea you enjoyed those kinds of games.” There was a twinkle of the devil in his eyes as he stopped by the fire.

“Oh, I have been saving many things,” Chris promised. ‘The best of it all has yet to come.”

“Then I shall have to stay here, with you. So that I may experience all that you have to offer.”

Chris’ hands were hot and sweaty when they finally closed upon JC’s neck, guiding him down for a fierce kiss. In it was the promise of the new life they were forging here, where no white man had ever lived before. On the shores of the Pacific, then, their saga would end. JC could not think of a better ending.

Epilogue  
Music: Steven Warbeck, Music from the Miramax Motion Picture Shakespeare in Love, The End

You will not find the story of the Kirk expedition in any history book today. Their trail is not marked on any map, nor his discoveries charted in the annals of science or nature. When they did not return as expected, they were assumed lost, executed by a Spanish battalion or simply claimed by the fierceness of Mother Nature. For a few years, people would remember them, wondering what had happened.

President Madison, of course, is remembered most for winning the War of 1812 and securing the United States’ position as an independent country in the minds of Europe and beyond. The failure of one small expedition to the west simply faded away in the records of his presidency. Years later, Fremont led several expeditions into the deserts of the west and the land was no longer considered uncharted territory.

Still, there are Spanish records, missionaries who encountered the American men living on the Pacific coast in what should have been Mexican land. For several years, a couple of men would appear at one of the local missions each spring to trade fruits and vegetables for bullets and boots. Sometimes they brought an Indian woman and several children. Other times, it was only two of them, stopping in for only the day before disappearing again into the wilderness.

In 1848, when the rush began to California, a family of half-breeds opened an inn and would sometimes tell the story of how their father crossed the mountains to rescue their mother from slavery to an evil Spanish trader. Some of them had Italian names, to the marvels of the 49ers. No one ever made the connection to the long-lost explorers, or checked the names of the gravestones in the small cemetery plot behind the inn, six stones in groups of twos, facing west to the Pacific.


End file.
